


The Steel that Warmed Us in the Night-Time

by TheAlfanator



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 07:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12953964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAlfanator/pseuds/TheAlfanator
Summary: In my second series, Geralt, Yennefer and Cirilla are caught up in a King’s errand.  Yeoman Janshai, the contracter, has offered them to collect twelve amulets, scattered across the continent.  They face daring situations; situations any normal person would certainly die from, all to receive a fairly heavy pouch.





	1. Contract

**Author's Note:**

> This work of fanfiction is based off The Witcher. If you want a front row seat of my stories, you can check out my Tumblr here: https://thealfanator.tumblr.com/  
> This is where I post my work first, so if you're eager to read, you can source them there!  
> Please enjoy.

A glint shined in the darkness, winking at the tiny needle of light that peered into the gloomy large cave. Dust and gloom danced around all areas of the chasm as large, heavy feet shuffled around the rocky floor. Grunts and moans sounded as the mysterious creatures moved with daunting intent as they carefully protected the shiny gemstone that sat at the back of the rocky alcove. Smells of chargrilled skin and set blood reeked and bounced inside the coffin-like interior, scrambling up any nostril that inhaled; jabbing the senses with pitchforks. The giant silhouettes that only slightly managed to stand out against the minute volume of light was so rigid and gigantic that it would send fright up anyone’s spine. They were like giants that seemed as if they were the size of towers. One man’s struggled voice splat out in the corner of the cave, tiny and restless. Blood dripped out of his mouth rashly as he tried to grab the precious glittering item that lie a few metres ahead of him. Unfortunately, the spike that had impaled him did not allow him to move, stuck against the nail that jolted through his guts. He continued to struggle, ignoring the fact that the more he moved, the more significantly the blood would gush out of his open wounds. For a moment, the enormous pool of blood, created by him and the many rotted corpses around him, shimmered more than the artefact; like passive competition. One of the shuffling giants heard his useless splattering and slowly grumbled towards the faint noise that he emitted. A few seconds passed until the man aggressively had his skull crushed against the weight of the creature’s toe. More passed, until the giant grunted a sigh of satisfaction and turned back to join the rest of his narrow-minded comrades. They continued to shuffle in the dimly lit cave, ripping limbs from the corpses that decorated the cave then eating them with large amounts of pleasure. The grunts and moans continued as the glistening joyous gemstone winked at the crack of sunlight that danced at the other end of the chasm…

***

It was a sunny day at Kaer Morhen. The Sun blistered the concrete that made up the structured walls around the castle. Leaves and vines tried to protect them by frolicking against the mild wind. The air was calm, cheerful and complementing well with the strategical odour that emitted by the witchers that occupied the plots of lands. At one of many of the balconies that stuck out of the main part of the castle stood Geralt of Rivia, a monster hunter and master swordsman. Despite his title, Geralt does not hail from the city of Rivia. After being left with the witchers by his mother, Visenna, he grew up in their keep of Kaer Morhen in the realm of Kaedwen. He stood, hands on the warming stone banister, proudly upon the vast landscape of the Witcher castle. The scar of his face enjoyed the sunshine as he gazed upon the lush green fields in the distance. As he watched the scenery, blurs and gossips could be heard from down below. Ink blots of moving figures dotted the stone and grass on the ground, talking and going about their business. It was peaceful.

“Come on, my love. Cirilla cannot wait all day.” Yennefer brushed up behind him, her raven-black hair stunning the sunlight. She was the youngest member of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers yet is also the love of the Witcher and a mother figure to Ciri. She cuddled against him despite the hot temperature. Her smile emitted into Geralt’s contented eyes, penetrating all defensive aspects of his personality. His heart seemed to melt inside as he gazed back onto her alluring face.

“I thought she could stand to wait a little longer.” Geralt brought about a smile. They exchanged complements for an unusual amount of time before swiftly heading into the cool shade within the building. After Geralt had returned, after a few hours, Yennefer suggested a potential opportunity.

“A contract came up.” She introduced. Geralt seemed annoyed at first, wanting a break from monster hunting – mostly due to the short amount of time since his last contract, hunting down a poor phantom on the Isle of Frologhe, just a mile off from Novigrad. “Don’t sigh like that!” she laughed, “I don’t think it’s that bad. Have you heard of the very… monotonous King: Yeoman Janshai? Apparently, he needs a witcher to deal with a challenging yet peculiar job. Thoughts?” Geralt reluctantly agreed and decided to head out with Yennefer on horseback to a daunting castle to the west of Velen after admitting their departure to Cirilla and the rest of witchers that occupied their home.

The ride to the castle was short and swift. Geralt gazed and the frosty towers and pillars that built up the building. The area was in the north of the Skellige Isles, resulting in the chilly air. The concrete blocks seemed to almost shiver as a way of keeping warm. Yennefer and Geralt dismounted their steeds and tied them to a nearby fence in a fancy stall. The Witcher said his farewells to Roach and followed the sorceress across the bridge and into the castle. As they entered, torches hung from the interior infrastructure, occupying the immediate atmosphere with a pleasing warmth. Their orange light lit the otherwise darkened areas with ease and kept the mood of nearby soldiers content while they stood on guard with heavy steel and weapons. Several men were positioned around various corners of the well-built castle, perceptive for any unexpected movements or invasions – although their eyes seemed more tired than eager. Geralt and Yennefer came to a large open hall, red carpets smothering the cobblestones and wooden tables and chairs stood balancing metallic cups and plates. The room felt increasingly lonely than the others although the quantity of guards had multiplied. Geralt thought perhaps it was the long and bare echo that bounced footsteps and the occasional coughs. He looked around like an eagle, mapping out the room. Door… behind them. Windows… Possible escape route if the conversation gets too dull. Gigantic, important-looking throne… in the centre, being engaged by a particularly impertinent man who couldn’t help to show off his gleaming, shiny crown upon his head.

“Come, Witcher.” He began, “I have a request you won’t want to turn down…” He left the information cryptic, which agitated Geralt somewhat. He preferred to get straight to the point, getting muddy and bloody in the fields fighting a noon wraith; but no… snobby conversations with rich kings it is… He looked at Yennefer who seemed entirely undisrupted by the arrogance that persuaded the hall, almost waltzing towards the man with an uncaring nature about her. “Straight to the point then…” the man, who was later identified to be Janshai, the king Yen was talking about earlier, greeted the pair, “There are ten amulets that I used to have in my company. Ten amulets which were… relatively expensive pieces of merchandise. Now, only one remains.” He unveiled the shiny artefact from his neck. Pieces of expensive emeralds and rubies danced along the untouched gold of the necklace. Even Geralt could see that, no doubt, it was expensive and fragile. “I need you to find the other nine, scattered across the various lands and bring them to me, with haste! Don’t worry, you will be payed a hefty sum of cash towards the completion of the contract.” Geralt needed information, not motivation, and as he was given a tiny piece of parchment with all of the suspected locations of the amulets, he asked questions.

“Who stole them?” he poked.

“Who can say? I am unsure who or what stole them. It came in the blackest of moons to steal them under the noses of my men.” Geralt looked around. There were plenty of guards stationed. It seemed unlikely that anyone could steal even a steel cup from this place without becoming plummeted to the ground by their heavy bodies. More questions were rallied before Geralt and Yennefer left the castle, sighing under the unanswered problems and missing gaps in their knowledge.  
“How would someone manage to steal items as cherished as those without being caught?” Yennefer thought aloud.

“Exactly what I was thinking.” The Witcher agreed. After some discussion, they decided to look at the list of locations in which some of the amulets might be. Velen. Novigrad. Skellige. All of the usual places but one which stood out from the page… Toussaint. Geralt thought to himself that this might not be some usual contract, and that this might be more complex than he originally thought…

The both of them travelled to the nearest location on the list: Novigrad. As they reached the cobblestone bridge which was half crumbled into the river, they dismounted their horses and headed into the bustled town centre. People rushed around their usual lives, the red rooftops gleamed in positive expression around the city, reflecting the cheery Sun to complement the general mood. Alleyways that let people down to shops and marketplaces spun off the main square like spindly legs of spiders. The wind squeezed through the tiniest gaps between the compact bodies that shuffled around the city. Bells rung furiously, men shouted – proudly selling their goods profusely; everything on display. Fish, fruit, vegetables… everything was there, ejecting their sweet aroma over everybody nearby. Geralt stopped and consulted Yennefer.

“Janshai said we’re looking for a couple of shady thieves in blue leather clothing.” He began. “A rag of some caught clothing was found snagged on a torch sconce on the night of the incident, said that’s our best guess…” He rambled on swiftly with the item in his hand, without recognising that Yennefer had a more pressing issue on her mind.

“I think Ciri should come along. Three heads are better than two.” She exclaimed.

“Absolutely not,” Geralt stabbed, “We just got her back from the Wild Hunt; do you really think I’m going to let her out of Kaer Morhen’s walls again?” He sighed. “As much as I know you admire her, Yen, we cannot let her come along…” he trailed off. He found a bench a few metres away from him and sat on it, swinging his head in his hands.

“I understand. You’re right.” She joined him. The Sun seemed evermore hot now, producing sweat on the forehead of various people, including Geralt.

“It’s just… too dangerous.”

“Very well.” Yennefer agreed, “Come on, we have to trail that first lead.” After a few moments of rest, they swiftly got up and headed towards the market stalls in hope for a lead about a missing amulet. From behind a large barrel in the dimmed light of an alleyway, Ciri peeked around the object, then quickly retreating back down Novigrad’s city corridors after eavesdropping the conversation. Whilst making sure she evaded their sights, Cirilla dodged the witcher and sorceress whilst heading to the other half of the market stalls, asking about some thieves in blue clothing that may have passed through. Geralt, oblivious to Cirilla’s presence, blindly started asking the local sellers about their current evidence and information. The hustle and bustle of Novigrad continued. People bounced off each other manically whilst the tall stretching houses danced in the now dwindling Sun. Somewhere in this ocean was a very expensive amulet, and the Witcher was positive they were going to find it.


	2. Novigrad

The red bricks of the city streets of Novigrad flowed through seamlessly. It worked like clockwork with people walking around without seeking trouble; just minding their own business. One man, tailored in blue, scruffy uniform, walked quickly through the town, keeping his head down – his footsteps as fast as his heartbeat and sweat on his brow. He seemed breathless as he hurried down one street and into another, manically cutting through the sea of people that progressed throughout the morning Sun. He carried with him a heavy object in his satchel, which he held tight to his chest as if it were a magnet that could end his life if he failed his mission. After more painfully long minutes, the man ducked through a doorway and into a small building that sat on the edge of a dark, mysterious alleyway. Once he drank the cool draft that the shade gave him, he stood in the barren empty room, floorboards creaking and leaving a trail of dust from the ceiling every few seconds. Half a dozen other men, fierce as boars, circled him. One, which looked like the leader of the group, penetrated his eyes into the figure carrying the satchel.  
“I’ve delivered it. Safe and sound. Not a scratch.” Although he tried to sound objective, his voice emitted a concentrated fear about him. Anxiety consumed him as 12 eyes peered at his paralyzation. Each cracked their knuckles. “I’ll hand it over if you pass me the cash.” He stuttered. The leader of the pack laughed ferociously, inducing a cocky embarrassment towards the timid man in the centre. After a few more minutes, they wiped the blood off their hands and ordered the silhouette in the corner of the room to clean up the body. They swiftly left the building, satchel in hand.

Geralt and Yennefer mindlessly dawdled through a quieter area of Novigrad, carefully looking for anyone wearing something similar to the blue scruff of clothing that identified itself as their only trail to finding the amulet.

“Not a very convincing lead,” Geralt began with doubt. He was worried that, in a town this large, they would stand no chance locating some sort of clue.

“Just keep searching,” Yennefer replied with boredom, “the quicker we get this finished, the quicker I can have a drink.” It seems that Geralt spoke too soon as immediately someone wearing the same colour blue bumped passed them with a small amount of force. A large, muscly man followed by five others all heading in the same direction. Relaxed. The force of collision revealed a purple glint inside the satchel he was carrying… the amulet! Both Geralt and the men pursued in the swift run, but each blue-wearing target had all split off on their own. Amusingly, this made Geralt’s pursuit easier! He followed the man with speed, trying not to drown under the pressure of the people that blocked his path. Bins were knocked, trolleys were thrown and market stalls crashed over the reckless weight of the pursued and the pursuer. Screams started to occur as the realisation of the chase became notorious. Geralt’s vision centred on the man, making sure he did not escape. It didn’t take long before Yennefer screamed his name as he ran into a heavy fruit stall that peered around the corner. Everything went black.

Ciri sat in a dimly lit tavern, warmth all around, trying to eavesdrop on a few people that occupied a table behind her. It wasn’t long until she concluded that they were not talking about a precious amulet – only about what they’re going to do at the weekend, and such. She waited a moment longer before standing up and darted to the door disappointed. Only a few steps before the door however that a panting, out-of-breath man entered with a rough, torn brown bag on his shoulder. He was wearing a similar blue costume to the one Geralt and Yennefer talked about earlier whilst she was eavesdropping. Her eyes became more alert like the ears of a cat. After an attempt to blend into the surroundings whilst tailing the gentleman, Ciri followed him up some narrow stairs and onto the second stage of the building. The room she entered contained three shady-looking men in more, similar tattered uniforms. The room felt dark as if some very nasty things happened in them. Some of the windows were heavily boarded up with wood and nails, and the room had a tingly, metal smell which was static and stale. Dust fogged her vision greatly, encouraging a gloomy atmosphere. She stepped confidently into the centre of the room in which she stood on a recent bloodstain that clothed a section of the flooring.

“I believe you have something of mine.” She broke the silence.

“You don’t belong here.” The man threatened, his back facing her. His voice grumbled like gravel stones, hoping to conduct intimidation.

“Fine. I gave you a chance. Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.” Ciri drew her sword from her metal casing which was strapped to her back; a metal twang sang in the silent, misty air.

***

Geralt awoke. Shit.

“It’s okay!” Yennefer consoled. Geralt reconstructed his knowledge of his current surroundings. Yennefer had dragged his body into a quieter and darker alleyway to rest. He hadn’t been out for long as it was only midday according to the Sun that peeked over the thin opening above them. Yennefer knelt over him as he lie flat on the hard, rocky ground. The ground was wet and was coated in spots of wet puddles and littered packaging. “Sorry it wasn’t the most luxurious of conditions.” She giggled. It took a few minutes to get back to the main street. Geralt was frantically cursing as they walked through the crowd because they lost the only lead.  
“How are we going to find it now?” he moaned through clenched teeth. Evidently, he was annoyed – even the raven-haired sorceress saw through that! Amusingly, immediately as he swore some more times, they heard windows shattering; shouts and screams coming from a sparse street to their left. It didn’t take much convincing until they were headed full speed down it. A few dodges here, some crawls there. To avoid a large amount of embarrassment, Geralt carefully traced to the building without running into any more obstacles. When they reached the building, more clatters occurred. More wooden boards and shattered glass fell which almost hit them. Geralt led the way as they ducked inside.

***

Cirilla blocked the incoming attacks like elegant swimmers, making it look effortless even though she took a few slices to the shoulders. The three men were more difficult to kill than she thought as all six legs were still standing. They reached a stand still. Their swords still poised upright and eyes locked into position, slowly making their way around the room in stance. They were focused so much that when a Witcher and sorceress burst through the door with a large amount of force, they all jumped unexpectedly. For a moment, Geralt and Yennefer were undecided whether to be shocked of Ciri’s presence or to protect her from the invading hostilities.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he roared drawing his sword.

“Shut up and help me!” Ciri replied, stabbing at the nearest attacker. Blood papered the walls, solidifying in small, gruesome bits across the interior wood. Slices of swords littered the next few seconds. The first man fell, then another. Three faced the last, nervous filled man. He backed away, clutching the amulet. Mercilessly, Ciri ferociously kicked the man forcefully through a glass window behind him. The glass smashed into tiny fragments as his body thumped on the now bloody ground below.

Deep breaths consumed the dust-clogged air. They could hardly wait to get out of this rich, blood stained room.

“Well. This is awkward.” Cirilla stared at Geralt, and he stared back, frustrated.

“You were supposed to stay at the castle!” he said through clenched teeth, restraining from raising his voice.

“Well, I guess I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Stop it, both of you!” Yennefer interrupted. She tried to have more concern over their argument but seemed more frustrated with the blood stain that dried on the cuff of her clothing. She tugged at it multiple times, “let’s just get this amulet and get out of here.” They agreed. When Geralt dragged his stiff legs over to the windowsill, he growled and cursed.

“What?” Ciri noticed.

“The amulet may have fallen down with the glass-pricked corpse down there…” he whispered under his breath. Leaning over, he saw the lifeless corpse huddled around by bystanders. Swiftly, Geralt caught a peasant in a tweed, rough jacket snatch the bag and then retreat in a hurriedly way.

“Shit!” he cursed again, “I’ll deal with these two whilst you two run after him.” He pointed to the other still bodies. Without a word, Cirilla and Yen bolted out of the broken-latched wooden door and down the stairs. As they burst out of the door of the tavern after an odd look from the bartender, they saw that the man with the treasure had broken into a run – realising that a sword and various torturing spells were bolting after him. Pushes and dodges occupied the scene for a surprisingly long amount of time as they realised that the thin, poor man was skinny and quick. They countered moving stalls, flinging doors and idled people that waltzed down the street in the opposite direction. His heart must’ve skipped a beat when he looked at the ashen-haired women who was on his tail and looked as furious as the devil’s daughter. Finally, he was unconscious on the floor, oblivious to what had happened. Ciri lie with him, panting from the magnificent dive she had just performed. Yennefer elegantly picked the brown satchel up, checked the amulet was in there, and then slung it over her shoulder.

“Well, that’s that then.” Ciri struggled to emit the words. “What now?”

“Long way to go, yet. We’ve got to retrieve another eight of these.” Yennefer exhaustedly said. “Come, let’s find our White Wolf.”


	3. Velen

The sword slashed, swinging at the drowners that merged from the water. The hooded figure that danced around them had been fighting for what had felt like hours. The evening air froze the barren ground near the damp sand. The air reeked with the smell of monster guts as the fighter swiped limbs off, one by one. There must’ve been about ten of them, circling him as if trying to blockade him. Their attempts failed swiftly, more heads flying around – blood spewing out, bodies still twitching. Though the silver was heavy, the hooded figure failed to grow tired. He elegantly retreated the weapon as multiple blue-stained corpses lie around him. He sighed. This was normal routine, he thought. Sometimes he wished enemies were more difficult. He left the area, silent as a panther. He encountered more, hollow beasts on the way back to the inn: ghouls and wraiths – nothing too harmful, he thought. People wondered how he could pull off the things he does as he’s only a small build. Thin, medium height. He continued. He saw the inn in sight, only a few hundred metres. He saw the windows as they flickered light out from the inside - the comforting, warm light which splattered throughout the rooms and walls. As much as he loved the outside, he felt eager to hurry his walk into the warmth. He swiftly ordered some ale and sat at a creaky, wooden table alone. He unveiled his hood. Jet black hair, beard and blue, enchanting eyes. He looked young, yet experienced with battle. He struggled to take off his leather armour as his bones and joints yelled when they moved. He took a leisurely sip from his cup. Some peasant sat down in front of him on the opposite side of the table he was sitting at, interrupting his peace.

“Hunter, I’ve told you – time and time again – you ain’t welcome here after what you did!! He roared almost silently, through clenched teeth. The bearded man continued to drink, seemingly ignoring the yelling man in front of him.

“Do you want the job done or not?” Hunter threatened back as he slowly stood up, ready to lie down in an un-rented room off to the side. The peasant looked to the floor, intimidation consuming him.

“Aye. I guess so.” He squeaked and sighed, almost simultaneously. Hunter retrieved his things and locked the door behind him as he entered the small chamber. Then faded into rest…

***

Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri rode on horseback into the famine-infested land of Velen. The barren land stretched for miles, sunlight gleaming down upon it, showing the yellows and browns of the unsaturated Earth. The one amulet in their leather satchel bounced around unsatisfyingly on Yennefer’s back.

“The King says the third amulet is buried in a large, troll cave somewhere near here.” Yennefer instructed, exposing the others to her knowledge.

“We are two out of ten amulets down; I hope the pay is significant…” trailed Ciri, concern in her voice. They all mumbled with agreement whilst the horse hooves cluttered down the cobblestone pathway. They saw a small village in the distance; it seemed peaceful. They decided to make it their next stop. Unfortunately, Geralt was reminded of Hankala – the small, poor town of Frologhe. He tries to let his regrets go, about being unable to save the fire, but he classified it as impossible as it ate at his heart. As they got to the village, the wind howled in emptiness. They settled their horses and headed inside a rustic tavern which seemed not looked after; floorboards squelching at every opportunity. The three of them sat down at a table.

“Guess I’ll go ask around” sighed Yennefer. She swiftly got up, leaving her warm drink aside. She looked around. Tables and benches scattered around yet almost nobody occupied them; perhaps it was the time of day – people usually don’t drink in the morning. However, there were couples about - some alone at a bench, others having a mere peaceful chat together. Yennefer descended upon a muscly, well equipped bearded man sitting with some ale. He had strong chainmail armour which was constructed with bits of hard leather that held it together. The chestplate held a silver greatsword on its back. Minding his own business, he continued to sip the trails of contents from his cup. He grumbled as Yennefer sat down opposite him.

“What d’ye want” he pierced the conversation sharply.

“What do you know about a troll’s cave near this location?” Yennefer replied, determine yet kindness flowed within her voice. The man took seconds in thought, tinkering with the wooden mug in his fingers.

“Aye. I know the place” the soldier lifted his head, looking straight in the raven-haired sorceress’ eyes. “I can take you there.” He invited.

“Fantastic. I’m guessing that sword isn’t just for show” she smiled. He did too. The soldier greeted Yennefer; admitting his name was Leo. Geralt watched from a distance, anger in his heart. He hated to bring others into their own affairs – but would rather get the job done himself. After gauging their wooden plates and cups, the four of them headed out of the building towards their destination: the troll’s cave. On the way there, there was little conversation. Geralt and the others didn’t want to alert the poorer man of the amulet in fear he would try to take it for himself. They continued to walk off road into a dense forest, thick with foliage. Trees knocked their trail, leaves hung carelessly from the branches that roofed the area. Sounds of birds were frequent and glorious despite the contrast between them and Velen’s desolate landscape. Once they reached the area, they each glared with worry at the large abyss which ate the somewhat expansive chunk of the area around it.

“What d’ye expect to find in there?” Leo consulted.

“Something rare and difficult to find” Ciri kindly informed him, trying to avoid the penetrating growling in Geralt’s eyes. “Something that glows even in the darkness” she continued, lighting the man’s eyes lighter than the glints in the shards of the amulets themselves.

“Yes, well we’d better hurry up” Yennefer said in her usual regal tone. As soon as she finished her last syllable, a large force whacked her aside, knocking her unconscious. Geralt, Ciri and the soldier all drew their weapons in shock; unprepared to the force. A large troll took Yennefer’s last position, roaring with laughter and mockery. It was as big as a house, smeared with green mutations and fungi, almost completely coating the icky skin that covered it. Leo started stabbing the monster’s feet in a furious tone.

“No!” Geralt shouted, but it was too late. The troll smacked the man with incredible force, again knocking him out to lie with Yennefer’s vitality-lacking body. Ciri tried to combat the beast whilst Geralt cast signs and swung continuously at the monstrosity, but they were pinpricks against the larger force. They were too unprepared and had no choice to flee. Geralt and Cirilla sprinted through the forest to lose the creature through dense, foliage and wildlife. They had no decision but to head back to the calm, oblivious inn that sat a few hundred metres ahead of them. They panted ferociously, grabbing for as much oxygen as they could whilst also cursing at themselves for being unable to help the others who had fallen among it. They burst through the inn door, seeking significant help.

***

Yennefer woke in a dismal, dust-infested cave structure. It was as black as heavy smoke chucking out of a chimney late at night. She could hardly see as she spluttered and coughed through the low concentration of air. She slowly stood up, bones cracking from their lack of movement. Looking around her, vision was still useless but she managed to make out little light reflections made from the depth of different parts of the cave. Though the smell reeked like old fish in a cellar, she found no use standing around. She started to feel the roughly textured walls. She realised she had been in a small alcove somewhere where light was almost non-existent. She dreaded the effort needed to puzzle her way out of this mess. Despite her pounding head, she managed to conjure up a soft, blue light which emitted immeasurably from her fingertips, which ironically revealed more shadows than light. She turned to gag in consternation as she sees flies feel their way around the bloody head of Leo, the man who she was talking to what seemed like a few moments before. Insects fluttered in and out of his ajar mouth, excited over a small spot of blood they found. The head was disembodied, hanging from a dangling meat hook along with others which looked like they had been there for much longer. Hand covered over her mouth and nose, Yennefer continued to stare at the horror. That explains the smell, she thought. With her other hand, the bright light continued to light her way as she stumbled through the nothingness. Trying not to tumble over small rocks, Yennefer ducked and crawled through many passageways, squinting to find a spot of light peeking around any corners – above or below. She came to a large area when her produced light became no more. She went to relight her spell when she heard a frequent shuffling sound like lots of tiny moving feet. She paused in worry for a moment, however the sounds were low enough for her to still hear her own, staggering breath. She feared to relight her magic; hovering her hand – ready to cast. One… Two… Three… There was nothing there but an empty area. The walls grimy as the last hundred she had been seeing before she arrived. Something in the corner of the area sparkled more than anything else. A sparkle in which her light did not quite reach out to. She moved forward to quench her curiosity. Kneeling, her uniform became muddy in the thick sludge which laminated the floor. She leaned in closer. It was the third amulet! The shiny blue gem in the middle winked with content at Yennefer as she carefully picked it up. She took a moment to regain her surroundings and continued to progress through the maze which she was lost in, hand cupped over her body wound which oozed blood uncontrollably.

***

Geralt and Ciri sat in thought at the inn table. The Sun danced through the gap in the wooden wall that lie perfectly between them.

“There’s got to be an easier way.” Ciri broke the silence. As much as Geralt hated to put Ciri in danger, he actually agreed with what she had been saying.  
“It’s fine. I can brew some potions, make some oils.” He said reluctantly. His only motivation was for Yennefer, the sorceress drowning in peril. His thoughts were interrupted by a man with a large beard and looked well armoured. He had a sword, bow and a quiver of arrows on his back. He stood at the end of the table and peered down on them.

“Name’s Hunter. Heard you were havin’ some trouble with a troll in the area. Same here, been attempting to get it for weeks. How ‘bout we take this thing on together?” His deep voice struck confidence in Geralt and Ciri. The sword on his back was not a joke, they thought. They agreed. Geralt ordered Ciri to stay at the inn despite her protest – in order to maintain her safety. After the matter was settled, Geralt and Hunter swiftly left the building again after equipping themselves for the fight.

They reached the cave. Dusk was looming. Birds had retreated and were silent. The troll commenced his heavy footsteps at the entrance to the cave whilst the two drew their weapons, ready for the attack. They were unexpectedly thrown off their focus when Yennefer emerged from the cave, tired, wounded and not perceptive to the situation. Geralt saw the tightly-gripped amulet in her grasp. They ran to her aid, slashing at the beast, drawing arrows, casting signs. The beast now struggled with the pain-inflicting wounds that opened across its body. It didn’t take long until the beast fell to the ground with a brutal force.

“Get out of the way!” Geralt shouted at Yennefer whose eyes were now losing energy, drifting from her wounds. The beast knocked her off her feet as it fell, making her loosen her grip from the fall. She watched in horror as the amulet she just dropped rolled down the cave abyss, clunking off the walls and falling down into the darkness of the cave she had just escaped from. Geralt also watched, paralysed in trauma to the event. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the amulet shot into the cave effortlessly. They left the troll corpse immediately to rush Yennefer back to the village.


	4. Temple

Ciri sat, bored at the tavern table. Although she is forever in Geralt’s debt, she cannot help but feel a little annoyed at his overprotectiveness. She sighed, eager to help Yennefer from wherever she might be. She tensed at the table; people wandered around it, minding their own business and building upon their own affairs. For a moment, she vented the frustration so much so, the table almost started shaking itself – more from terror than physical force. She relaxed, intaking the satisfaction of lost pressure. Ciri closed her bright, ambitious eyes and thought long and hard. One… Two… Three… equal breaths of meditation and calmness, which she learned from her father, brought tranquillity to her thoughts. After a few moments of peace, she took a fragile bit of paper out of her small, roughened black satchel which sat on the bench next to her. Whilst on the way to Velen, Ciri managed to sneakily pickpocket Geralt’s list of amulet locations to study for herself. She copied them and returned it; resulting in no sudden suspicions by the Witcher. Novigrad… tick. Velen… hopefully, tick – she thought. She studied the list further. From the amount of evidence that the contractor had gathered, they suspected that another amulet was located near a run-down temple or shrine a few miles west from the village she was located. She sighed again, using them sparingly. Ciri conjured guilt inside her as she pondered around the decision. Ciri wasn’t angry at Geralt; she just believed he might’ve needed some space. Besides, hunting down two amulets at a time seemed more time efficient… She double checked her decision and her possessions – sword, herbs and the such – and moved the creaky door aside.

“Come on, Roach.” She whispered, mounting the horse, “we are going on an adventure!” she chuckled with slight awkwardness. They rode off the main path into the transitioning sunset.

***

Geralt panted hard, sprinting towards the village. It became faded due to the falling Sun. The air became colder, merciless. Darkness overwhelmed it fiercely and confidently. His footsteps dashed with effort. As fast as he was running, they could not overtake the rate in which his heart was beating. Yennefer bobbled in his arms, fully unconscious now; blood leaking from her stomach and pasting itself on and through Geralt’s fingertips. Hunter ran beside him, bow drawn for unexpected movements. He suspected the wounds on the raven-haired woman were from the troll earlier on in the daytime - when he watched like an eagle in the distance. A part of him perhaps regrets intercepting to help. Nevertheless, he stood by the White Wolf to aid his next plans of action. They suddenly burst from dark to light through the tavern door, startling all the joyous people inside. He dashed to the nearby table and placed Yennefer on it, drawing stares from all directions. Blood immediately coated the table. With unbelievably speed, Geralt cursed whilst opening a small wooden box which he produced from his satchel. Oils and potions littered it. He took one out, then another, then a third. He made Yennefer drink some. Coated the wound in another. He rushed around like a madman before Yennefer woke a few minutes later. She groaned a little as a sign of awakening to Geralt. He took an opportunity with a quick, relieved kiss.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to drop it. I promise.” She expressed faintly.

“Don’t worry about that now, just rest.” Geralt replied more softly now. People around the room scattered in different directions. Some continued to their drinks whilst others gathered and watched.

“Where’s Ciri?” Yennefer noticed. Geralt’s heart sank and looked around.

“Shit. I knew this would happen.” He looked back at Yennefer, “don’t worry, I’ll sort it out…” Yennefer took a moment to greet Hunter and thank him for aiding Geralt in the matter. They exchanged calming smiles. Geralt left to go to the counter. He ordered some more blade oils and some fuel to burn to make a small fire. When he returned, he said farewell to Yennefer.

“Hunter,” he called, “look after her please. I need to go after the amulet, then for my daughter” he trailed, adding company of a heavy coin pouch to his chest which he supported a second later with his hand. The man swiftly nodded.

“You have my word.”

Geralt stood at the entrance to the cave. The Sun had set now and the chilling air had emulsified a thick layer above the muddy ground. He sighed above a bloodstain in front of him, where Yennefer had been moments before, before heading into the cave. He lit a torch and carefully proceeded to where he could no longer see the entrance. By using his Witcher senses, he made sure that there were no luring monsters nearby: trolls, necrophages, or anything else which may be purring in the darkness. Kneeling down and unstrapping his armour, he produced a small fire from the fragments which he bought earlier. Gulping down Swallow, Thunderbolts and other strangely coloured potions, he settled in a meditation position and settled to prepare himself for the retrieval of the amulet.

***

Ciri viewed the darkest temple ruin she had ever seen. The stone walled were cracked and chipped with unstoppable foliage growing between them – contrast to the usual emptiness of Velen. The pillars acted as thick, supportive legs for the whole building. Stones that had fallen covered the pavement surrounding the building, making splatters of hollowness as Ciri walked around it, taking in the sights and recording interesting things about the structure of the building. As she walked inside, a large set of stairs crumbled into the further black hole of darkness, almost persuading her to be absorbed into it. She gasped at the frightful thrill she received as she peered around the corners. Inside the ruin, claustrophobia echoed more than her footsteps as she squeezed past rubble and crushed gaps in the walls. She pulled away from the sunlight and tiptoed down the stairs so quietly that even the walls could not hear her steps. She eventually had to light a torch to satisfy her vision as she further progressed through the cave. She continued to walk down when suddenly a click from above emitted. In the panic, Ciri rapidly drew back before a sharp arrow pieced the air where her foot was present beforehand. With a narrow miss, Ciri shook off her adrenaline by giving off a slightly humorous laugh before a deep breath on anxiety which filled her more than she had liked. Careful of pressure plates, she advanced down the darkly lit, dusty corridor.

***

Geralt saw the amulet a few metres ahead of him. It glowed happily on the other end of the gloomy cave. Unfortunately, there was a fairly large, angry troll between him and it. Dropping his torch to the ground, he drew his recently oiled silver sword and slashed ferociously at the beast. It wailed as Geralt inflicted grunts of effort as more force pieced the creature. Luckily for him, the troll was quite slow. He waltzed around the beast, avoiding the heavy swings made at his body. Jumping around like a cat, he clambered on to its arms and stabbed at the veins, once more avoiding the heavy forces the creature tried to use. Geralt could see that the troll was much bigger and more experienced than the troll from earlier, so it would be near to impossible to kill it without aid from others. Instead, he tried to grab to amulet, dodge and escape as soon as possible without attracting too much peril. Casting Axii, he distracted the creature. In a smooth movement, he threw his sword like a javelin towards the troll’s neck and then dived for the amulet. As the sign faded away, the beast came to a swift realisation of the needle that pricked its throat. It used force to retreat the blade and used it to slash Geralt across the shoulder. Belching in pain, Geralt continued to hold the amulet. He grabbed his sword which had clattered to the floor and burst for the exit. He used his now free right hand to support his wounded shoulder. He climbed up the rocks he had come from and exited the cave.

***

Ciri came to an open clearing. It seemed empty. Wildlife fluttered through the large gap in a corner of it whilst roots reached for the ground. It didn’t seem like people had touched this place for an oddly long time. As she kept an eye out for any traps, she progressed with her flaming torch. The smell felt still and stale, making Ciri urge for fresh air. She turned; left, right – walking anywhere in search for the precious artefact. Suddenly she saw a glimmer in the darkest corner of the room. To be cautious, she threw the torch near the corner to further become aware of its presence. When it landed with a loud thump, she saw three figures, dressed in black. They were peering over the amulet, muttering away before reacting to the sudden movement before their feet. Immediately, Ciri felt a small prick to her neck as her weight shifted to the floor, eyes shutting without prevention.

“I’m sorry.” Somebody whispered in her ear. She became more relaxed, almost becoming one with the cold stone floor as her body pushed against it. Her senses transitioned to faint; the mutterings that came from the figures dulled and her vision blurred towards an everlasting darkness. She exhaled.

***

Geralt almost broke the inn door down as he smashed through it, retreating from the evening moon, panting and wounded. He grabbed a small chair and sat beside Yennefer, amulet in hand. With the other, he held his open shoulder wound. He inspected it; not too bad but needs bandaging. Yennefer showed concern when she saw the blood but seemed pleased when she caught glimpse of the amulet. They both giggled hysterically as they sat there hopelessly. The time was so late that everyone had exited the tavern now with the exception of the owner and Hunter, who had been looking after Yennefer for a few hours. The bartender allowed them to stay overnight – although against the rules of the building.

“You’ve got to find Ciri.” Yennefer exclaimed. At that moment, the closed inn door directly in front of them surged open, more powerful than Geralt had done moments before, to reveal a fatigued figure. As she walked in, Geralt’s eyes came into focus. It was Ciri. Geralt saw that she had an amulet which she immediately dropped as a result from her almost non-existent stamina. She barely acknowledged Geralt before she stumbled to the hard, wooden ground, passing out before the Witcher’s stance. He knelt immediately, trying to support her. Yennefer slowly stood up, secured the amulet in her hand and joined Geralt. He felt for her pulse. It slowed, and slowed some more before becoming so faint that he could not feel it any more.


	5. Familiar Sights

Deryk exited the tavern without further thought. He slowly and carefully locked the door, closed the wooden shutters and left the keys on the ground in front of his feet. He turned around to look at the evening atmosphere. Rain drops felt for his face as he fastened his ripped, dirty shirt and headed out into the wilderness. Lightning occasionally struck the ground every other step he took. His breath appeared, producing a small, satisfying white cloud of gas which slowly wandered off somewhere else in the distance. As he walked along the deeply covered, leaf-smothered dirt, he pondered on his decision with tears in his eyes. He had been walking for what seemed like years before he finally reached the cave. The small cave in which a Witcher had declared that this was the ‘Cold-Hearted Thief’s lair. Deryk tightly gripped the religious symbol which dangled from his neck, mumbled a few words, then threw himself off into the deep abyss of the cavern. Nobody heard the thump of the body at the bottom.

***

“This is only three of the nine I asked you to collect.” Janshai roared. Geralt saw his facial frustration travel through him. The king turned, forcing Geralt to view his greasy black hair and rich cloak which drowned itself in flawless emeralds and rubies.

“I’m working on it,” Geralt grumbled, “just giving you these ones to eliminate the risk of losing them again.”

“And what of Yennefer? Where is she?” Janshai counterattacked. Geralt stared at the floor in sudden anxiousness. After a quick stumble of words, he replied.

“She’s fine.” Geralt was in the bare, melancholy office room with Yeoman. With the exception of themselves, the room was practically empty. The odd plant-pot supported a green plant, bursting with excitement. A few dusty tomes littered the desk in front of him. The king looked out of the window at nearby soldiers practicing their archery skills.

“A location has been updated. We’ve had news that someone with an amulet has moved to a new area, just off the side of Novigrad; you’ll never guess where it is…” he smiled. Geralt grumbled in his general, emotion drained tone. “Frologhe.” Geralt stood up immediately, then sat again swiftly; half in disbelief. He sighed, then scrambled to find words before they were abruptly interrupted by a masked soldier who awkwardly opened the door.

“There’s someone here to see the Witcher, sir.” He said before wandering off without waiting for a response. Geralt’s ears lifted automatically as he swivelled around in his chair to face the doorway. Then she entered. Geralt turned away immediately; he knew who it was.

“Triss Merigold!” the king roared in an uplifting tone, “fancy seeing you here!”

“Just thought I could help an old friend of mine.” She replied, a small, cherishing smile at the corner of her mouth.

***

Geralt and Triss gazed at the seemingly endless sea on their way to Frologhe. The large ship creaked and wailed at the tough tide that smacked the belly out of the air. They had to squint to prevent the needle-induced salty air from stabbing at their eyes. Geralt sighed.

“Almost seems like we’ve been here before…” Triss chuckled.

“Mhm.” He grumbled. He looked at Triss; she looked back. She couldn’t tell his mood from his Gwent-like facial expression. A: ‘don’t give anything away’ look. She smiled once more.

“So,” she started, “what business have you got here this time?” she looked at Geralt sarcastically.

“Looking for an amulet.” He stated, “This wasn’t my intention. The amulets keep moving from place to place. Quite annoying actually.”

“It’s okay, we’ll find it.” She moved close to Geralt, but he awkwardly pushed himself away and sighed. They could see the misty island ahead. It looked identical to the last time he visited. The trees and the coastline merged into one, detailed canvas as the salty atmosphere swirled around it. As they drew near, birds grew quieter; it felt like they were drifting towards a secure bubble which was isolated from the rest of the world. A short time after they arrived, Geralt found himself staring at the half-naked buildings of the village of Hankala. There was wobbly scaffold dotted about some of them to indicate their goals to repair the damaged infrastructure. It hadn’t been long since the Cold-Hearted Thief’s fire broke out and there was still some burnt wood present on the sides of some buildings; the scars of history.

***

“Come on.” Triss awoke him from his trance. He trudged along the steep hill towards the slightly depressing mood of the village.

“Oh, you again.” A woman called from the Witcher’s left in a very sarcastic tone. It was Alisha. She was the contractor’s cousin on the Thief quest. Her knotted, long brown hair dangled around her neck as she put her body weight on a nearby signpost. She didn’t look angry, Geralt thought. Just very excited to see him… “The professional Witcher who slept in late, then couldn’t stop a simple fire.” Geralt noticed that she didn’t raise her voice but just consistently emitted in an increasingly annoyed and persistent low tone. They exchanged cryptic looks before Geralt moved on. He regret his mistake, therefore trying to avoid as many people as possible. He moved on through the village which proved quite difficult as there were frantic builders rushing from place to place with heavy looking wooden blocks and planks. He caught Stefan out of the corner of his eye. Geralt noticed him immediately because he was the only person who had a somewhat smile on his face.

“Geralt!” he cheered, “thank you so much for taking care of the monster last time.”

“No problem.” He looked around, “doesn’t seem like they’re very happy to see me.”

“Don’t worry about them. I reckon they’re happy it’s gone, to be honest.” Maintaining his welcoming grin, he gestured Geralt and the sorceress to a slightly quieter area. He offered a couple of stools. They sat.

“Don’t feel guilt, Geralt. It’s not like you could’ve helped it. The moment’s gone.” Geralt thought Stefan was skilled with consoling. His comforting eyes absorbed any guilt he may have had. Without saying anything, Triss crossed her arms and retreated from the conversation – looking almost bored.

“I just need to know about an amulet which is in this location.” Geralt pursued. “Big, shiny - looks… like something I definitely wouldn’t wear.”

“Seen anything like that?” Triss supported. Stefan’s eyes grew brighter for a second, then withdrew into a dark, ugly expression.

“Yes… but I don’t think you’ll like who has it.” He muttered under his nervous sounding breath.

***

Geralt heard heavy footsteps behind him. Grunts and puffs indicated his muscly features. Clearly a large man. Triss looked at him. He wore no shirt, but just very worn brown trousers. He had a scruffy beard and dagger-like eyes that saw through all expressions. Her head ducked to the floor, then to Geralt. Using her indications, he stood up and turned.

“Who is he?” he asked Stefan, who still sat – unmoved from his stool.

“Deryk’s brother. The man committed suicide three days ago, because of you.” He whispered back. Geralt noticed a peculiar dangling amulet hanging from the man’s broken, leather belt. Geralt looked down, guilt eating him more. Triss glared at the man’s face of fire.

“Hey, you!” the man yelled in the devil’s deep voice, “you killed my brother! You tried and you failed! You failed to stop the beast before it killed his daughter!”

“I’m sorry.” Geralt replied, legs shaking as he moved towards him.

“Sorry? Is that it?” he scoffed. The only conversation that followed was a considerable fist to the Witcher’s face. He fell to the floor. The man knelt over him and continued to insert bruises to various parts of Geralt’s face. The crowd of people drew a ring around them, emitting small bubbles of shocked expressions from time to time. Triss watched in shock as the White Wolf didn’t try to fight back; he just lie there like a cold, lifeless corpse. Tears protruded with every punch received.  
“This is for all the shit you caused!” the man continued, a thunderstorm glistening in his sharp, piercing eyes.

“Stop!” Triss stood only a few steps ahead of the attacker, holding the amulet high in the air. Everyone cleared a path and glared at the sorceress. The man raged at her after feeling his left-hand side, noticing the amulet was absent. Out of breath, he relentlessly sprinted towards her. Before Triss could react, the man was already lying at her feet with an arrow through his skull. He twitched in the pool of blood that urgently crawled across the unlevel grass. Geralt and Triss looked over to the clearing where a shadowy figure with a bow stood. He jumped down the awkwardly-placed rocks onto the same ground where everybody else stood like a stump; paralysed from shock and fear. As he unveiled his hood, Geralt realised it was Hunter. Geralt got up from the floor with raised, purple lumps over his face and looked at him in disgust.

“He didn’t have to die.”

***

Triss and Hunter followed Geralt back to the cramped tavern in the heart of Velen. She carefully placed the amulet in Geralt’s satchel whilst trying to avoid Yennefer’s bitter glare. Ciri hugged Geralt as he entered the door.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good as ever; healing up nicely.” Ciri replied, “Are we up to five of them now?” she asked excitedly as she looked at the bag. Geralt nodded.

“Still don’t get why those men you found in the cave just gave you the amulet after poisoning you.” Yennefer pointed out. Ciri sighed as if she had been going on about it since the Witcher had been gone. Geralt stared into space, deep in thought at Yennefer’s point.

“At least we’re halfway!” Ciri chuckled. She took a few seconds to look individually at Yennefer, Triss, Hunter and Geralt, then she carefully made her way back to a bench across the room, holding her weight against a table to support her still very weak stance from the incident. She closed her eyes, catching some sleep for the evening.


	6. Toussaint

Yennefer and Triss stared at each other from across the room. The daytime sun leaked ferociously through the windows whilst also being remarkably soothing. The innkeeper gazed upon the room with a casual boredom; it was ‘just another day’ after all. The smell of beer stimulated the air like a bitter electric shock. For what had seemed like days, the tavern was still noticeably empty – with people staying clear from it since the moment Geralt had arrived a few days earlier.

“I wonder how long they’ll be.” Triss brought up. She felt awkward with Yennefer’s piercing, crystal-like eyes which failed to blink. She merely nodded her head or grumbled a tiny sign of approval, then sighed. Triss sighed too; trying to solve the everlasting grudge but failing miserably. Hunter watched from a distance, fondling over his own, large cup of ale. His tired eyes dragged their way from Triss, then to Yennefer, then back again – constantly watching a competitive game of conversation. Yennefer sighed again.

“They won’t be long, I hope.” She pointed out, “A couple of days? It’s Toussaint, we’re talking about – as far as I know, Geralt loves fighting monsters in White Orchard rather than getting dressed up in a luxurious city…”

“He’ll want to escape the place as soon as they have the amulet.” Triss finished.

“Exactly.” Yennefer almost cracked a smile. She looked at the floor with tired eyes, clutching her almost healed stomach wound. From time to time, she prodded it with unsatisfying effect, exerting her frustration of not being able to mount a horse on an exceptionally thick, white bandage. She sighed again.

***

Geralt and Cirilla stood at the edge of the lively city of Toussaint, feet sinking slightly in the dancing, brightly coloured sand which slowly merged into a blinding pale green grass which coated the city’s structure. Ciri laughed and enjoyed the bliss atmosphere whilst she looked around at the people who worked their day, carrying clothes, picking fruit or travelling along the cobblestone intestines of the city. On the other hand, Geralt studied the layout once again, in a curious fashion. He had been here before, but not in quite some time. They both shared a fascinated expression; green splodges of life dissolved into the red and white structures of the roofed tiles and infrastructure. The air was crisp and Geralt could almost smell the delightful mood of the inhabitants here. Flowers bounced around, overjoyed at every passer-by. Geralt looked to Ciri.

“As much as you love it here, you know we have a business to do?” he prodded.

“Absolutely.” Ciri stared back, eyes still voluntarily open, drinking in the charm of Toussaint.

“Right…” Geralt, amusingly, did not look convinced. “I got good news and bad news. Good news first, we have large city to look for an amulet. Bad news is exactly that! We have a WHOLE city to explore for an amulet, and further – we have no leads to follow.” He sighed, “You ready to do some exploring?”

“You kidding?” Ciri chuckled, “I’d explore this town for days! Just say the word.” They moved forward, deeper into the city.

Geralt and Ciri decided to split up and take different roles so that they could expand their search for the amulet. Geralt agreed he would delve deeper into Toussaint’s mazes and pathways whilst Ciri headed to a shoreline which surrounded a large, beautiful lake just off the side of the city. Ciri continued to absorb the amazing nature of the place. Her eyes as wide as a tiger’s, constantly observing the liveliness. People bustled around their business. She noticed that there were no true monsters here like in Velen; she hadn’t seen such purity and happiness to extents like this! She walked up to a woman who, just outside her small cottage door, was picking some berries then washing them in a sweet-smelling bowl of water.

“Hello, Miss?” she poked politely, trying not to invade her business. Luckily, the woman turned around without angry eyes but instead greeting her with immediate happiness.

“Yes, my love?” she croaked. She was an older woman, with cloth-like clothing which seemed worn out from kneeling so much. Ciri asked her about an amulet in the area – trying not to sound too desperate for an answer. The woman looked down at a wet patch of sand, but she was clearly in thought. She stood silently, puzzled like a wise wizard in his tower. After a few, awkward moments she replied.

“There was one… A man, a knight to be precise, who thought it would be funny to make a beast swallow it. ‘Twas a peculiar beast; shaped like a bird – has feathers ‘n all that but it mostly stays underneath the lake there.” She pointed; Ciri followed her arm, “Every now and then, not often – mind you, does it burst out of the lake in rage, scaring all the people including me! The rather expensive looking item as you said is clearly in its stomach. It looks too beautiful to ignore…” she trailed again into thought. “Unfortunately, the rather arrogant man who forced it down its throat was also eaten. He may’ve deserved it, but I won’t wish death ‘un anybody! It was a tragic day.” Ciri looked down at the sand again. It was almost like they were both sharing each other’s thoughts if only for a moment.

“Thank you so much.” Ciri said eagerly. Just as she turned to leave, the woman called her again.

“Please, do me a favour and pick some of these gooseberries? I’d be ever so grateful.”

***

Meanwhile, Geralt stumbled into the city’s depths, wandering aimlessly and hoping for something to latch onto. He randomly started asking people about an amulet in the area but found no immediate luck as they would usually keep their head down and slowly shy away. He sighed again. He sat by a bench, deep in thought. The afternoon sun scorched his forehead and brought small entities of sweat to the surface like a father dragging his disobedient child.

“Hey, Witcher!” someone whispered. Ears peeked up towards the sky. The Witcher turned. “I know somethin’ ‘bout that amulet you been askin’ about.” He cupped his hands round his mouth, trying to encourage his whispers. He went across the busy street to meet the stealthily looking man who bent down into a crouch inside a doorway. He was evidently one of the townsfolk and not a city guard, which was noticeable due to Geralt’s perceptive nature, and the fact he could see his ‘not incredibly expensive’ clothing. “Let’s make a deal.” They both leaned into the warm, wooden building and increased their whispers into a normal-sounding chat.

Geralt nodded, expecting more information. “Look, I had a bottle ‘o wine which was stolen from me. It was dear and I need it back. I saw you, Witcher, ‘cause your kind ‘ave those swords! Please, fetch it for me and I’ll give you information about this task you’re pursuing.” Geralt looked reluctantly at the man, but was forced to take on the quest. He sniffed the area, picking up the trail. For what seemed like eternities later, he returned from this mundane task with a frustrated look on his face and a bottle of half-drunk wine.

“I have it. Now tell me about the amulet.” Geralt said as he passed the bottle back to the man. Geralt had a headache from the frustration and had a rumbling sound and sensation in his head. Trying to ignore it, he put his forefinger and thumb on his temple whilst leaning on a table. It wasn’t until the wine bottle Geralt had just retrieved smashed on the floor after it fell off a shelf, that he realised the rumbling wasn’t in his head. Books and ornaments shook, chairs wobbled. There was a vivid vibration through the floor. The Witcher heard screams coming from outside.

“What the hell is that?” The man in the room screamed. Geralt used his hand to restrain the man from running wild.

“Wait here!” Geralt shouted above the chaos of sound, adjusting his swords in the process – ready for a potential fight.

Geralt ran through the chaotic streets of Toussaint. High pitched screams of women and children stabbed at his brain. He pushed passed in the opposite direction to the bolting people. He cursed to himself, hoping that Cirilla was not caught in the mess. Stalls were pushed over followed by the sprawling of food items which became bludgeoned with the feet of others. After minutes of panicked breaths and the wish to move faster, Geralt came to a clearing. Below him, past a few banisters and intestine-like pathways, he saw a large lake in the distance bubble and shake like boiling water. He stood in shock, paralysed to the strange matter. Decades of suspension and expectation passed before a griffin-looking creature burst out of the water, producing a storm of water which spread for what seemed like miles. Shielding his eyes, Geralt noticed that this wasn’t a pure hybrid of a griffin, but instead a peculiar beast of a creature which he had not seen before. It had jet-black feathers with a red-stained beak and large, evil eyes. It zoomed into the air, screeching all around before diving towards the ground.

***

Ciri urgently shouts to the woman she was just talking to and others which crowded in awe around the beast.

“Get out of here! Now!” She warned as she drew her sword. The beast dived down towards the ashen-haired figure. Ciri deflected its attack with a swipe of her weapon. It was incredibly strong. It continued to dip and dive around buildings and over the lake it had emerged from moments before. Ciri continued to prick the creature. Not long passed before she gave a powerful attack to it which caused it to spray blood, turning the sand to a stale copper-like colour. It involuntarily smashed to the ground. Amongst the blood-spilling stomach, conveniently oozed the amulet. The colour was coated with blood so much that Ciri couldn’t even see the glistening greens and blues of the gemstones which were embedded into it. Geralt continued to look at the situation whilst desperately trying to reach her. It proved quite difficult due to the high amounts of obstacles and great quantities of idling bystanders. He looked a few dozen seconds later to see that he had made almost no progress at reaching her. Ciri snatched the amulet immediately, breathing heavily at her achievement. Despite the situation, Ciri couldn’t help but grow a small smile. They had retrieved their fifth amulet. That counts six now; she almost forgot that the contractor already has one out of the ten they had to gather. She continued to breath heavily, restoring the oxygen in her lungs. The corpse of the bird lie a few feet ahead of her. Geralt saw a bunch of city guards approach her with spears drawn. They looked puzzled at the scene and, with their narrow minds, immediately grabbed Cirilla by the arms and dragged her like a cat held by its neck away from the situation.

“What are you doing? I killed this creature!” Ciri yelled.

“Aye, you might say so, but let’s see what the queen says about the matter! You could’ve meddled with other people with a bloody-stained sword like that!” one of the soldiers replied.

“Are you kidding? You think I’d idly stand there and watch that monster bite away at the people of this city?” Ciri countered in shock whilst being continually dragged.

“We don’t know.” They blindly said from within their helmets. “For now, a holding cell is in order for you, missus, even if you are innocent!” Ciri could almost sense their stupidity through their empty, iron suits. She failed to resist their physical prods as she helplessly flailed with them towards a jail cell far inside the large castle in the middle of Toussaint. Geralt shouted at them and tried to push his way towards her, but he couldn’t make it and they couldn’t hear him. He grew angry as he fell to the cold, hard floor, unable to keep himself upright in his shock. After he came to his bearings, he stomped back into the alleyways of Toussaint in search for a better plan.


	7. Skellige

For the first time in what seemed like decades, Yennefer found herself being able to walk confidently. She ripped off her bandage aggressively like punching a longing enemy in the face. Her wound seemed healed. Hunter and Triss looked astonished at the quick recovery.

“That’s healed up quite nicely there, Yen.” Triss said in a content voice while pushing her body weight against a sturdy-looking pillar inside the tavern. Yennefer, for once, broadcasted a smile towards Triss. She seemed relieved at the recovery and not caring about anything else in particular.

“Just glad to finally breathe after that annoyingly awkward bandage.” She chuckled, prodding her finger gently into her stomach. Hunter looked at her anxiously as if he was now going to step up onto a stage. He took a deep breath in after gathering his sword and bow.

“Yen. It was really nice to meet you,” he started, “but I have to go.” He looked at the floor and sighed. “It was great… but I’m sort of a lone wolf – I need to get back out there.” He trailed off into thought, further looking down at his worn, black shoes. Yennefer first glared at the floor with him, saddened by the news, then she looked directly into his eyes whilst he looked back, and smiled.

“Very well; again, very nice to meet you, Hunter.” She proclaimed with a shaky voice whilst hugging a farewell to him. She glanced back once more as a token of thanks, then he left. Deafening silence preceded. Yennefer and Triss stared silently at either a worn-down corner of a table or an unsteady bench.

“We should go.” Triss expressed to break the silence.

“What do you mean?” Yennefer replied.

“You know that list of amulet locations? We should go now! To get another one.” Yennefer scoffed at the idea and turned her back towards her. “Come on, don’t you want to help complete this contract?” she continued, “as quickly as possible?” Yennefer sighed as Triss finished her attempt to persuade her.

“Fine. Make sure my horse is safe for a while, buy some provisions and I’ll conjure a portal to Skellige.”

***

In the night-time air, a sturdy iron gate became unhinged and flew across the chilly, overgrown courtyard into a now dishevelled brick exterior wall. Geralt stealthily entered, breathing steadily and silently; watching it form misty white clouds in front of his face. He stopped and mapped the layout of his surroundings before gazing up at the tall silhouette of the castle of Toussaint. He exhaled and thumped across the courtyard in trepidation, breathing heavily, more to release his anxiety in his stomach than to actually consume the static air around him. He ducked through the shadows which were made kindly by the trees. They almost made company to the Witcher, making sure he was safe and not exposed to view of patrolling guards. He made his way to an unguarded, small metal door which was half Geralt’s height. He swiftly opened it with an agonising scream made by the creaky, rusty connections between the door and the wall. It revealed an uneven set of concrete stairs leading down into a cellar. Whilst preparing to delve deep into a restricted area, Geralt used his cat-like eyes to study behind him; the route he had just taken. Looking back to the cellar and dousing his torch to conjure a flame, he inhaled, exhaled and descended into the darkness. Once inside, he was greeted by a bunch of snake-like narrow corridors which connoted an eerie atmosphere and even made a tough Witcher buckle under a slight fright an unnerving feeling. Geralt continued down the cold, basement corridors until he came to an open space with jail cells either side of him. Iron bars were scattered firmly into place. Geralt silently searched each of the cells.

“Ciri?” he called in a whisper. He spotted her from a mile away, her eyes sparkling against his torch in the darkness.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered back as he grew closer.

“Getting you out!” he almost shouted, realising that he heard footsteps grow louder, then fade away into the distance. Ciri and Geralt exchanged unreadable facial expressions. Ciri felt overly thankful that she could escape the grim depths of the holding cell area, but didn’t like to admit it to Geralt. She smiled mischievously.

“Thanks” she winked. Geralt notified Ciri that he was going to release an incredibly powerful sign of Aard, which would be dangerous and loud, so Ciri evaded the area and walked into the dirty part of the square cell. The room shattered with pressure as a powerful force broke the door down. The heavy, iron clunked onto the floor, making a huge clash which rung in the ears of anyone nearby. Ciri tip-toed out of her holding cell and walked across the large corridor with Geralt. They suddenly heard shouts of guards behind them.

“They’re getting away!” one shouted.

“Get them!” another emitted. Geralt and Ciri took no chances and immediately bolted in the other direction; iron-covered guards on their tail. They tried desperately to find the exit from the basement - Geralt in the lead, followed by Ciri and a dozen guards.

“This way; quickly!” Geralt shouted intensely.

***

Yennefer and Triss apparated a few feet above a gravel path leading down a sloping hill into the deep salty sea of the Skellige Isles. They misjudged the height and fell abruptly, hurting their bones in a stinging pain.

“Ow.” Triss laughed, clutching her sore back before swiftly getting up and brushing little particles of dirt off her lower half of her body. She looked around. They landed just off the side of a small, fisherman’s village. The sea air scorched their noses in a jesting delight. Men with crooked backs carrying large fish over their shoulders waddled up and down from the village to the coast and back, looking deep in thought whilst having a wild grin on their faces. Yennefer sighed happily at the positive sights and overwhelming company of a busy crowd.

“According to the contractor, there’s a peculiar underwater temple deep to the coast.” Yennefer began, “We should see it if we get closer.” Yennefer and Triss trudged along the thick ground, getting mud and grass over their legs which stuck like keen children. As they arrived, they couldn’t see anything in the distance but they knew that they’d need to go deeper into the water to have a chance at seeing the structure. They looked at each other.

“You’re going in.” Yennefer instructed, “I’m not getting my suit wet.”

“Absolutely not, you’re mad. You can go in; it’s your contract – your Geralt.” Triss bounced back with angry eyes. They both exchanged penetrative glares. Moments passed. “Fine.” Triss agreed as she stepped into the cold, merciless water.

***

The morning sun rose on the edge of Toussaint, welcoming the warmth of its presence and attracting the inhabitants to retreat from their houses and rush about another lively day. Geralt and Cirilla hid in a dark, stinking alleyway where nobody would batter an eyelid at checking for them, with the exception of the city guards which occasionally ran past the entrance to the passageway. Unfortunately for the two of them, they realised that when Ciri became detained and searched, the guards took the amulet for themselves; oblivious to the importance it withheld.

“They probably have it secured well inside the castle.” Ciri sighed whilst struggling to think of a plan to retrieve it once more. Geralt sat on a rough, unstable stool with his weapons rested on the floor and his back enjoying the support of the cold, raw brick wall. He rubbed his slightly scruffy beard in hope of generating some ideas. All of a sudden, he set his back straight and looked at Ciri with keen eyes.

“I have an idea.”

Geralt strolled up to the entrance to the castle which was smothered with about six or seven armed guards. He smiled in a welcoming tone as he continued to waltz about them, hands behind his back and performing a slightly awkward posture.

“Whas’ your business here?” one of them, presumably the captain as he was the only guard with his helmet off, shouted at the Witcher. It was evident that news about Ciri’s escape hadn’t reached this cluster of guards yet. Geralt stayed silent. He slowly walked up to the confused captain until the tips of their noses only stood half a metre from each other. Geralt beamed in a kind greet whilst the captain scoffed at his naïve actions. Then the first punch flew. Geralt swiped the captain with a closed fist across his right cheekbone before the other guards drew their swords with a high-pitched twang as they unsheathed. Geralt dodged back a few steps and drew his steel sword and pirouetted in a circular motion but still centred on the growing number of guards. This was her chance: Ciri took Geralt’s distraction and ducked through the wide pathway leading from the high, stone walls into the castle itself. Once she was inside the perimeter, she sprinted up the cobblestone pathway, panting hard for breath and occasionally hid behind tall, well-trimmed bushes and multiple patches of tall grass. She stopped at the unguarded main doors to the large fortress before peeking around the corner. She silently wished Geralt luck before crouching inside; stealth becoming her main priority. Geralt also peered over the attacking guards to see Ciri’s penetration to the building. Taking an opportunity to flee from them, Geralt ducked and dived through the obstacles of the city, trying to escape.

***

Triss was deep underwater, desperately holding her breath whilst swimming quickly towards the algae-covered stone temple she saw just ahead of her. She saw an entrance point despite the bubbles which tried to block her vision like leaves in a windy storm. It was incredibly worn down: corners were soft and delicate, rocks embedded the sea floor as a result of them crumbling away from the structure It seemed empty, but Triss hoped the amulet was actually there. In frustration, Triss also wondered how the amulet got there in the first place and why they needed to be collected. Nevertheless, she struggled on to get inside the complex. A few moments later, she climbed through narrow gaps and reached a part of the temple in which the water was only waist-high, allowing her to breath and get her bearings. Like a wet cat, she dried her hair and adjusted her uniform as effectively as she could. She took a deep breath, conjured a few spells and anxiously wandered deeper into the temple.


	8. Farewell

Ciri crept through the silent, dark corridors and rooms of the castle. The Sun leaked like water through the diamond-shaped tinted windows. It seemed empty. No guards were about and no footsteps echoed around corners. Ciri crouched beside a cold, stone wall and listened for patrols. She could hear nothing except her own breath. She dug her fingertips into the ridges of the bricks so that it led her down the dimly lit rooms. The air was strangely clean like nobody had set foot in there for decades, although that seemed unlikely. Her breaths matched the rhythm of her footsteps. Eventually, she reached a larger, more open room. It was brighter, so she could make out the shapes of some objects although she had to squint to do so. A red carpet flooded the centre of the oval-shaped room. Bookshelves guarded the walls whilst the books made company between their creaky shelves. An empty, melancholy throne stood disappointed at the end of the room. Ciri moved forward slowly, creeping on her toes. If anyone saw her, her glowing eyes would be seen before the rest of her body, drowned inside the dark abyss which smothered the air. She suddenly identified a special glass case just off the side of the room. Light passed through it; looking unusually unguarded for an object which looked too holy and significant to be true. She silently swept to the pedestal. Inside the glass case sat the amulet that was in her grip for what seemed like such a long time ago. Once again, her fingertips were drawn to the sight of it like a strong magnetic pulse. She breathed out again, in awe of the object before thinking of a way to retrieve it.

***

Triss cast fireballs from the palm of her hand to force the invading drowners to retreat.

“Piss off!” she cried, constantly twisting her neck in a clockwise formation to the next monster who wished to gauge out her internal organs. The waist-high water and claustrophobic pressure of the temple restricted her movement and produced infinite amounts of anxiety within her stomach. The drowners croaked fiercely – their backbones hunched over, making them crawl nastily towards her. Her fireballs proved un-effective. Her powerful fire spells would blast them, but they were clever enough to crouch under the water level to brush off the flames. She continued to curse. Triss counted the synchronised enemies around her: one... two... ten… twelve… too many. She waded through the thick water towards another archway of the temple using all her effort to unstick herself from the claws of the drowners. She twisted her body awkwardly to try to multitask her casting with her steps, but realised she was becoming more and more tired through her movements. Another archway passed which she identified to be more unstable than the last one. Water dripped through the ceiling whilst cracked stones emitted dust particles to become dissolved in the large volumes of water below. In a split-second decision, she cast one last powerful spell directly above her which resulted in a large, blinding white explosion. When the surroundings reappeared, she was surrounded by nothing but darkness. As she came to realisation, she smiled at the corridor which was now caved in and sealed by rubble. It was so thick that she couldn’t even hear the drowner squeals on the other side. She breathed a massive sigh of relief before spontaneously coughing out the concentrated dust particles in the air. Dreading her mission, she turned, lit her fingertips with a light-emitting spell and proceeded down the hallway. It led her to a descent deeper into the temple. They looked like they could’ve been stairs but the stream of water which mindlessly fell eroded it into a smooth, uneven slope. The waist-level water also decreased, to Triss’ liking. She failed to dry her clothing, however, but she had more alerting issues pressing on her mind. She gasped once more for air before carefully trudging towards the dark hole in the ground.

***

Ciri continued to stare at the amulet; half in awe, half in frustration. If she attacked the vibrant glass casing, the alarm would scream horrifically. That wasn’t an option. She swore at her feet and glanced around the case. Front. Sides. Back. Nothing penetrable. She touched it again, fingertips feeling the warmth of the bright sunlight which conveniently illuminated the artefact. Suddenly, she heard a massive crash from some double wooden doors on the other side of the room. She heard screams from multiple people who entered. Geralt, sword in the air, deflected the blows from manic guards who slashed at the witcher. From the looks of things, Geralt effortlessly slashed back at the guards who then as a result fell to the floor with a satisfying clunk. Ciri stood motionless.

“I thought you were supposed to be distracting them!” she said in confusion. She stared at Geralt, waiting for an answer.

“Things didn’t really go to plan.” He replied, chuckling whilst stabbing more invading steel. He didn’t even turn to face Ciri because of the hectic nature of the attack. Geralt threw multiple spells, knocking books off bookshelves as well as sweeping the guards off their feet. Ciri guessed there must’ve been about ten of them; maybe more. Thinking quickly, she smashed her elbow into the glass and snatched the amulet; glass sprinkling everywhere. Naturally, she cupped her ears at the screeching alarm that sounded. It stormed through the castle like water, aching the ears of everyone nearby. Amulet in hand, she ran over to clutch Geralt’s arm.

“Come on,” she screamed, “we’ve got to go!” She tugged at his arm like a small child. Geralt grimaced at the dazzled guards before agreeing. He ran with her. They sprinted across the ruined red carpet away from the guards and towards the right side of the large room. Ciri emitted a bright, blue light as she teleported up and into a glass-stained window, smashing it into a million tiny fragments. Geralt blocked the shards from falling into his eyes by guarding them with his arm – with sword still in hand.

“You could’ve gave me a warning.” Geralt chuckled.

“Shut up and get up here!” The witcher climbed up the stone infrastructure, crawled over the gap where the glass was standing a moment ago, then ducked through to the next room. Hearing the castle guards run to the window on the other side, they tried to keep up their pace. They were greeted with a long, brightly lit stretching hallway; similar to all of the other rooms that Cirilla had visited. Cobblestone walls scattered throughout followed by an elegant red carpet and torch sconces. They shot down the hallway with incredible speed. They turned a corner just as they glanced back at the knights that had only just managed to find their way over the gap in the wall. They came to an open drop with spikes far down at the bottom. They stopped and shielded each other from the drop. “Shit.” Ciri swore. Geralt looked at her in shock at her goofy language. Ciri smiled back, “Sorry.” The trap in front of them looked entirely out of place and seemed increasingly unusual to imagine having deadly traps scattered around a holy castle. Nevertheless, the stomping feet of guards behind them forced them to think swiftly. Ciri saw a lever on the other side of the drop – only a few metres ahead. It must’ve controlled the trap. She glanced at Geralt, silently pleading. Geralt, almost reading her mind, spoke with a serious, caring tone.

“Absolutely not.” He said. Ciri, ignoring his response, jumped over the gap. As she started to descend, she materialised to the ground opposite the gap, once again casting a bright blue light as she teleported. Out of breath, she looked at Geralt proudly before quickly spinning the contraption. The hole in the ground chugged shut. Guards sprinted around the corner. Geralt started to act. Smiling at his daughter, Geralt pat her hard on her shoulder as he passed her. “Come on, let’s go.” He said. Ciri smirked at the guards before using her finger to push the lever again. A large, spiked hole sat between them and the guards. She turned and walked towards Geralt; the smile still glued to her face.

***

Triss entered a large, dark, empty room. The air continued to stink of foliage and decayed interior structuring. Walls were collapsing and sprawling over the floor, tiny amounts of water spewed from the ceiling, drops sounding like tiny dwarves crying for help. She inhaled in a pleasant surprise despite the dangerous position she was in. She realised that the building could collapse at any moment. She travelled slowly through the room whilst tripping on small rocks on her way. She could hardly see except within a tiny radius which her pale light emitted. However, she caught glimpse of a shining gemstone at the end of the room. After looking in more detail, she noticed the outline of a large, ominous-looking pedestal. As she walked closer, she noticed vertical graves on both sides of the room; embedded in the walls. They conjured an unnerving fear inside her. There it was. The amulet. She placed it in her hand slowly and with care before smiling to herself.

“Oh no…” she said to herself. Immediately, the ground started to rumble after an almost predictable click of the surface in which the amulet was placed. The graves which burst open wiped the smile from her face. She turned whilst stuffing the artefact inside her pocket. Numerous skeleton-like creatures drew their rusty swords and crept towards Triss. Her heart skipped a beat. Her hands produced an orange flame as she prepared to fight. Then, without her consent they turned blue. A strong blinding blue colour. No, that wasn’t her hands… it was a large portal behind the invaders. Suddenly, with a yell, Yennefer appeared; her hair tugging at the air. “Thank God you’re here!” Triss cried. Yennefer recovered from her sudden transportation and stood up from the rough, stone ground. Together, they fought off the monsters with flying spells and deafening sounds of the casting. At one time, during the blitz, Triss became overwhelmed with the high quantities of necrophages but fortunately recovered with a couple of lightning sparks from Yennefer’s fingertips. In the hall, only Triss and Yennefer stood – highly exhausted.

“Please,” Yen started, “hand me the amulet. I want to see it.” She smiled. Triss handed it over, sparkling in their hands. Yennefer’s face suddenly grew subtly suspicious. She threw an explosion at the wall, making water flood in. Triss became wary. “There’s a way out. Just swim up the water and you’ll be back to the sea and to the surface.”

“You’re coming with me, right?” Triss questioned.

“I’m sorry.” Yennefer responded, looking sympathetically into Triss’ eyes. She cast a portal between the both of them, then dematerialised mercilessly; taking the amulet with her and leaving Triss alone in the temple. Triss grew angry, then relieved her frustration with a difficult sigh.

***

Yennefer greeted Ciri and Geralt with a large hug in the sweet, bliss hot sun of Toussaint. The pair of them escaped the city guards before Yen prepared a boat journey out of the city. They counted their amulets. They needed to collect two more. The journey seemed to fly by and Geralt couldn’t help but grin at Yennefer and Ciri having a conversation together a fair distance away – hugging each other and chuckling at the smallest moment. He sighed. They seemed happy.


	9. Trapped

He scrunched his boots along the hard, gravel path. They emitted tiny, mysterious screams as the friction shook the tension between them. The night-time air conjured mist in front of his eyes so he had to raise his arm to feel the darkness in order to feel his way through the meadow. He, with an unusual amount of effort, held on to his journals and papers scruffily under his anxious armpit. Constantly looking behind him and blasting out small, nervous breaths like popping balloons, he continued to make his way up the steep hill. The steepness of the landscape challenged his worn legs; making him want for rest. Resisting, he scrunched some more; gravel screaming further. When he reached his destination, he breathed a sigh of relief. He immediately took the opportunity to connect his sweaty palms with his knees and, forgetting his untidy papers, let them go onto the steep ground. To his regret, they humorously fell down the path and to the bottom like children laughing after they stole some rich man’s wallet. Cursing at his clumsiness, he ran back down the way he came to retrieve them. A few agonising moments later, more clumsy cursing could be heard from the large, ancient mansion which stood wisely like a statue, effortlessly drinking in the static air; night and day. The man clasped onto his papers once more (now further out of breath), and headed inside the building.

Once inside, he listened for sounds of presence. Footsteps, coughs; any human activity, but there was none. Exhaling from exhaustion, he tucked his journals on an ancient table which looked like it could buckle any second. The thick layer of dust disappeared at the large thump of leather which had just taken place. The man squinted down the dark hallway before lighting his lantern. Before anxiously breathing in and out a few more times and laying down his crimson, feather hat, he headed deeper into the mansion.

***

Geralt and Yennefer cuddled next to each other whilst on the merciless, cold grass. They rejected it with their backs as they faced the night sky. As the evening progressed, they became increasingly oblivious to the fact that they held each other tighter and tighter to fend off the night-time air. They lie dead centre of a barren yet peaceful field somewhere in the middle of the Skellige Isles. Crickets and birds yelled in the distance, but not so loud as to disturb the peace which held around them like a bubble or a sphere. Yennefer gripped the witcher tighter before turning towards him and warming his lips with hers.

“If the king saw us procrastinating, he would slaughter us right now.” She chuckled. Geralt was undecided whether Yennefer was motivated to push the contract to completion or to show her mischievous side and take a break from the action. For now, he sensed both.

“I love you,” he said awkwardly, “so much.” He gazed into the stars after receiving another pluck on the lips. He could feel Yennefer’s warm breath on his cheek as she laughed again, almost silently.

“You know Geralt.” She started, “I never knew how much feeling your metal swords warmed me inside. Every time I touch the blade; steel or silver, it never fails to ignite a loving part of me. It makes me feel welcome.” Geralt failed to reply. Maybe it was best not to – just let the moment float into the night sky like a peaceful stream of water, splattering on the rocks in a jungle. Moments passed. They almost drifted to sleep but they knew they had to stay awake. For Ciri.

“When do you reckon she’ll return?” Geralt asked. Yennefer’s eyes grew hard and confident.

“I have faith in her.” She said, continuing to clutch him round the arm, staying warm against the cold.

***

Ciri swept across a surprisingly steep hill with little effort. She gulped a few panicked breaths before exhaling once more with a grin on her face. Looking back at the hill, she congratulated herself. She admitted to herself that being right in the middle of Skellige in the middle of the night and about to enter a creepy mansion tangled her nerves and sparked butterflies in her stomach. Realigning her sword and leather straps, she walked up to the porch of the creaky mansion. It creaked so loudly that it sounded like a moaning animal in pain. She stared up the side of the building: nothing but wooden slabs and shattered windows. Cirilla almost sensed a statuary nature about the house; the large structure almost posed proudly at the surroundings. She laughed silently.

“Come on, give me luck…” she whispered at the front door and she fumbled around the handle. She twisted. A satisfying click followed by the high-pitched screaming of the hinges as the door swung open branded another smile on Ciri’s face. An agonising wait proceeded as the door hung on the hinges as if it was gripping on with all its effort, about to loosen and crash to the ground. It didn’t. After another few breaths of adrenaline, she headed inside.

The building was silent like the calm before the storm. Candles were unlit, books on tables had a thick layer of dust, coats hung helplessly onto racks. It was abandoned. Ignoring the wails of the floorboards, she absorbed the layout of the interior whilst dawdling down a long corridor. Doors leading to kitchens, libraries and offices dotted the sides of hallways. Ciri didn’t know where to head and was impressed by the scale of it all. She glared at the end of the path. Something seemed strange but she was unsure what caused her unnerved sense. Something halted her breath and stopped her footsteps. A flickering light in one of the doorways followed by indistinct whispers. She suddenly crouched and cursed to herself. She suppressed the sounds made by her boots as much as possible but she failed at her task. The floorboard made a tiny crack which felt loud enough to wake an army. The whispers stopped. Ciri stopped. Seconds of nothing passed. She reached the doorway. She saw the candle on the other side of the dimly lit room. Suddenly a figure reached towards her from behind the door; hands flailed, everything happened at once. Ciri fell to the floor and the silhouette bellowed onto her. Whilst punches flew, Ciri thought she noticed a scruff of crimson clothing from the corner of her eye…

“Wait! Stop!” she screamed. They both stopped and exhaled. Taking the opportunity, she darted to the nearest candle and lit it with a convenient match which sat beside it. She saw him. “Oh, Dandelion! What the hell are you doing here?” She sighed.

“Oh, darling Cirilla – I’m ever so… my apologies.” Dandelion said immediately, ignoring her question. He swept towards her and hugged her. “Me?” he quickly realised, “I’m studying! I heard about this marvel of a structure; this house! I couldn’t resist but use it for my research. I needed to quench my thirst for new and exciting poetry!” Ciri glared at his gestures. He looked like a madman, quickly coaching the wood and pointing to corners and floorboards, dancing around the room. His crimson clothing and feather hat continued to glisten despite the tiny stashes of light which flew from the candles. “Why are you here?” he interrupted.  
“It’s a long story,” Ciri began whilst leaning against a table, “here, why don’t we sit down and I’ll fill you in…”

***

“Hey, do you remember that time in Zerrikania?” Yennefer whispered in his ear; the black tips of her raven-like hair scratching passively at Geralt’s cheek. The Witcher turned away and laughed.

“Don’t even remind me like you’ve done a thousand times!” he said, “So embarrassing…” his voice seemed to trail off into the night sky like steam from a chimney – soft and peaceful. They continue to lie there, huddled and mutually dreaming of a life full of exciting adventures. Yennefer collapsed her head onto Geralt’s chest whilst playing with a small tuft of grass with her right hand. She could hear his heartbeat. It thumped pleasurably and slowly as if it was enjoying the moment bit by bit. Thump. Thump, like waves of electricity.

“Have you ever thought about getting a dog?” she asked before staring sleepily into Geralt’s orange, fire-like eyes, “You. Me. Ciri. Dog. Toussaint? Seems peaceful, no?”

“Since when have we settled to live a normal life? Adventure always calls. Think I’d find it boring anyway; living a normal life, I mean.” He sighed as he retreated into thought like a madman would eagerly return to his study, “I don’t know though, maybe…”

“I’ll let you think it over.” Yennefer said in a louder voice yet still contained all the love and passion. She smiled.

***

After what seemed like an extremely long chat, Cirilla and Dandelion retreated from their wobbly, creaky chairs and each held a candle which slumped in a silver cup.

“Do you really expect to find a precious, expensive amulet in a run-down, dead maze like this?” Dandelion spoke whilst fiddling with an odd positioning of his crimson cuff. Ciri, without looking directly at him, laughed exotically at his addition to the conversation.

“Why wouldn’t you find an amulet in a haunted, ominous house like this?” she countered as she used her candle to blindly follow a dark corridor. She shadowed her eyes with her arm in hope that it would make her see better amidst the thick layer of darkness which wrapped around them. As they reached some winding, circular stairs, Ciri heard Dandelion spluttering dust and waving the air followed by an amusing dissatisfied sound. Ciri turned to face him and laughed.

“What’s up? Air too… unbreathable?” She smiled once more. Dandelion shook his head and frowned like a soaked cat. Each step made a wail and scream as they slowly headed up. As they reached the next floor, Ciri dropped her candle as a door in the distance of the mansion slammed. She cursed as she swiftly scrambled to pick it up again whilst burning the tips of her fingers. Dandelion, behind her, looked in concern.

“You alright?” he said. Ciri nodded before confirming a ‘yes’ because she wasn’t certain he could see her in the darkness.

“Probably the wind.” She said. They continued to creep forward. Ciri twisted her neck left to see another long corridor. “Oh, my God.” The poet heard her shout before she darted down the corridor. Dandelion, in concern, followed her. He thrusted his arm out in hope that the candle he held made a difference to his vision.  
“Ciri?” he shouted. He saw her crouched at the end of the hallway.

“It’s ok!” She shouted back. She turned to hold up the shiny amulet. Dandelion wasn’t sure what shined more: the amulet or her smile. Dandelion sighed in relieve. The smile was swiftly swiped off his face as a grinding, mechanical sound occurred. After it was too late, Ciri and Dandelion were separated by a wall which previously had slid before they could have reacted and entrapped Ciri in a small space behind it. A menacing, yet physically impossible laugh sounded from nowhere. This time, both of them truly believed the mansion was haunted. Dandelion hugged the wall in panic whilst Ciri clutched the amulet like a mother protecting her child. She had no escape.


	10. Crimson

Dandelion burst through the wooden doors with amazing speed, panting like a panther and almost tripping over his own footsteps. The cold, night-time air hit his face unexpectedly like a ton of bricks, though that was the least of his worries. Shortly, his crimson clothing became black with mud as he regrettably slipped over a tiny bit of wood that stuck out of the ground before the steep hill which he now rolled down. Startled, he pushed himself from the wet, muggy floor and desperately retrieved his bearings like a terrified animal. He was the sheep amongst a pack of hounds; choosing whether to focus on looking behind him or run faster to his destination. Coughing and splattering weakly amongst his sprinting, he struggled further towards the weak sunrise.

Geralt and Yennefer watched the sunrise quietly and in tranquillity. Anyone would suspect that they’d drunk a thousand bottles of wine, though they hadn’t. They just perched there all night, dawdling over memories like a wizard would loiter around their flasks and archives from previous experiments. Abruptly, Geralt sensed quick, panicked footsteps from a mile away. He thought it would be Ciri… or the horse, Roach, but no… He lifted his head and looked in the direction of the sounds. Yennefer, oblivious to the event, continued to see into the distance with tired eyes.

“Sir, Geralt. Sir…” the man stuttered through frequent breaths. He dropped his hat carelessly and wiped sweat from his brow.

“Who are…” Geralt started, proceeding to stand and disturb Yennefer who also sighed and stood up. He soon stopped when the witcher recognised the face.   
“Dandelion, what brings you here?” he sighed again reluctantly like a king being dragged to a music festival.

“It’s Ciri.”

***

Geralt, ignoring Roach, rushed with Yennefer and the bard towards the direction that Dandelion indicated.

“Wait, Geralt.” Dandelion stopped, “Can I leave my lute on your horse? Is it safe?” Geralt almost laughed at the irrelevance of the matter.

“Yeah, whatever.” He excused as he turned broke into a run. Dandelion sighed, whispering a brief apology before latching on his lute and following the pair. After a few minutes of running, they saw the mansion in sight. Unbelievably, Dandelion frequently stopped of exhaustion and was surprised at how far Geralt and the sorceress could run without tiring. Nevertheless, he barely managed to keep up.

“Wait, stop!” Geralt sounded, stopping in his tracks and clutching his medallion. Yennefer angrily looked at him.

“Why are we stopping?” she shouted, “We have to find…” she was suddenly cut off by the brief explosion that occurred. Dirt in eyes and mouths, they were all distracted.

“Ekimmaras!” Geralt roared through clenched teeth – simultaneously drawing his sword. The small, bug-like creatures skittered around them, circling them effortlessly. Despite their ambush, they were easily sliced by the powerful silver which slashed at their skin by the Witcher. Yennefer cast a few spells in aid whilst Dandelion crouched down, covering his head and shouting in terror. Without batting an eyelid at the matter, Yennefer quickly recovered and dashed towards the haunted mansion, continually shouting and screaming her daughter’s name manically. Geralt pushed Dandelion to follow the sorceress whilst he held back to fight off the rest of the spawning Ekimmaras.

Yennefer dashed towards the mansion with lightning speed, uncaring of her physical tiredness but instead just wanting to reach her daughter. When she reached the house, she saw the front door half on the floor after Dandelion busted it off its hinges when exfiltrating the building previously.

“Stay here.” Yennefer indicated to the bard whilst gesturing with her hand to stop him in his tracks, “Trust me, you don’t want to be caught up in this!” The bard was helpless to do anything; as much as he wanted to help, he knew Yennefer was correct. The raven-haired sorceress took one more sympathetic glance at him before turning and proceeding into the building. Thankful for the instructions from Dandelion, Yennefer swiftly found her way to the place which Cirilla was caught.

“Hello?” Ciri whispered after she heard movement. She heard Yennefer’s voice and immediately sighed pleasurably as if a huge pressure had been released. “I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

“We’ve got to get you out.” Yennefer yelled in concern. She felt the wooden, sturdy wall where she could hear Ciri’s voice. She, unfortunately, noticed that the wall that caged her was too thick to destroy alone.

“It’s fine, really.” Ciri chuckled, “I have a lovely looking item here – and it’s actually quite cosy. Just get me some water and I’ll be great!” Despite her efforts to lift the situation, Yennefer failed to laugh and scoffed at her attempt. She stopped suddenly when she thought she heard a noise…

“You shouldn’t waste your time trying to do that.” A voice said, “You should at least try to find a lever to open the hatch.” Yennefer turned. A silhouette stood not too far away from her across the hallway. A candle wasn’t necessary as the moon conveniently lined up through the stained window behind the man, resulting in a menacing shadow which struck the floorboards. Yennefer knew exactly what it was. She turned her head back again – against the figure. She grew angry. A higher vampire. Using her anger, she aggressively twisted her body around and drained all her effort in frustration to hurl sparks in its direction. Unusually, but to Yennefer’s knowledge, he disappeared without effort. She swore profusely at the air just before Geralt came into view and looked at her strangely, squinting slightly at the darkness of the building.

“What happened?” He swiftly asked as he swept to Yennefer. She composed herself, avoiding the Witcher’s gaze.

“A higher vampire. There you go, Geralt.” She said half sarcastically, half in dread of the situation. “Get your sword out, you can deal with this; I’m sure this is an easy task for you.” She continued – voice of ice. Geralt nodded, motivation drowning him with only one goal: to save Ciri. He found an empty room and started unpacking multiple tubes of potions and blade oils. He lit a candle. Not quite a campfire, but it’ll do. He knelt and exhaled, slowly closing his eyes.

***

Geralt drifted off into relaxation yet staying perfectly awake; detecting noises and almost flinching like a cat – alert. He stayed, kneeling, breathing in and out. One… Two… Three… One… Two… Three… Beside him lie bottles, potions and dusty boxes that scattered themselves around him. Although there were a few rough edges and worn sides to the items, they were evidently well kept. He additionally tried to keep his mind off Ciri in fear that he may become distracted later by the thought of her. He’d learned that emotion is highly volatile. Yennefer silently sat on the other side of the melancholy room, staring Geralt up and down. Dandelion also sat beside her. It was a long, bare room with a gloomy layer across it. Light shone in, casting shadows and ironically revealing more darkness than light. Large, wooden columns stood ominously and danced in all their glory whilst showing their glistening, precious items inside their glass cages. Carpets rested on the floorboards but looked scruffy and unkept; although they all suspected that nobody in the room seemed to care. Holes were cast upon them at some point, followed by trips and tosses – scrunched up all over the floor. It felt like hours had past. Maybe they had. Next time Yennefer looked, Dandelion had started to snore and his head hung over his knees. Yennefer also felt tired but the sense could not win her over. She fought the fatigue with eyes of ice. She thought of Ciri; she fought within her – took over her mind. Endless thoughts. She hung her head down, equal to the bard, and protruded an invisible tear that she hid from view. She mindlessly fiddled with a piece of leather that was carelessly placed there before they arrived, but was conveniently next to her when she sat there. Another tear fell. Then it happened. A gust of wind woke them all like a storm of icy water. Dandelion scurried up and awkwardly asked if he’d missed any action, standing poised and ready to attack. Yennefer silently noticed Geralt open his sharp eyes. He knew. Swiftly and in what seemed like one smooth movement, he struck upright and juggled conversation.

“Yennefer, barricade the door.” He said, “Dandelion, clear the room!” They both obediently did what he asked of them – with the same goal in mind. Laughter sounded from the air whilst flames from the candles quivered and waved. They were ready.

“You think that will stop me?” the voice scoffed, becoming clearer and clearer until he materialised in front of the witcher. He saw his pale skin and black slick hair which frolicked around his white, elegant collar and just touching his black, exquisite costume and blood-red cape. Unfortunately for him and to Geralt’s realisation, the suit he wore was stylish but not very protective against swords. Geralt laughed at his face, deliberately so the vampire could feel his breath. Geralt touched the hilt of his sword. Before he knew, he was lying on the floor – sword on the other side of the room. Winded, Geralt also recollected that his ears were ringing and that the vampire was darting around the room with incredible speed.

“Geralt!” Yennefer sounded, diving for the sword. Geralt caught it from her and used current momentum to attempt another swing. Shit. It went right through him. Another try. Swing. Miss. Swing. Miss. The witcher saw the figure of the enemy but could not hit it. It whirled around the room, hitting the sorceress in the back with incredible speed. She wailed as she smashed to the floor. Geralt wanted to help but he tactically saw that it was inefficient and that he concluded that the hostility needed to be eliminated as quickly as possible. A few more swings of swords and claws occurred until Geralt realised he’d been pinned up against the wall with the unusually strong grasp of the enemy.

“It was really nice meeting you.” He said, humorously and grinning; showing his fangs. Geralt closed his eyes and retreated his head as far as it would go. More seconds passed. His throat grew tighter. The only noise that could be heard was the groaning of the floorboards. Wait… he could breathe. He opened his eyes cautiously. He failed to see the vampire but instead he saw Dandelion standing over the corpse with a bloody candlestick. Geralt stood motionless for a second before glancing at Yennefer, who had recovered from her fall, and laughed immensely. A grinding noise occurred a few rooms over.

“Oh, I missed you so much!” Yennefer’s voice was barely heard due to the muffled sound produced when she hugged Ciri. Ciri, behind Yennefer’s back, tossed the amulet at Geralt’s chest and grinned. Geralt joined slowly, also smiling.

***

Geralt, Yen and Cirilla took turns in saying farewell to the bard who nervously clutched his journals and maps, looking pale as a ghost.

“I guess I’ll see you around.” He said faintly, “I promise I won’t get into any trouble… at least for the time being!” he chuckled, looking at Geralt. The witcher wasn’t convinced, emphasising the raise of his eyebrow. They continued to talk for the time being from outside the mansion, joyously breathing the fresh air of the Isles and realising that they never knew they missed it before it was gone in the stuffy atmosphere of the castle. Then, the trio looked at their list of amulet locations cautiously for their next move.


	11. Hunter

Hunter trudged through the empty land of Velen. It was night and he had his bow drawn, crouching through thick tufts of grass; eyes stuck to the enemy like a predator about to pounce. His breath whispered through the air, striking the coldness and forming a small package of cloud, trying not to take a step on a twig or anything that would relentlessly yell out an alarming sound, exposing his presence. His target strode through a path ahead of him. Only a few paces behind, he held his breath and rose from the dirt. He drew his weapon further – tension building. He counted in his head, breathing rhythmically before taking the blow. He released the pressure of the string as it made a satisfying and silent whoosh through the wind. The arrow shot ahead of him like a restless Nekker sprinting with anger. The arrow flung over the deer’s head and shrunk into a nearby tree stump, startling the creature and rushing into the maze of the dense woods. Hunter rested on the ground once again and cursed repetitively, then locked his bow tighter in his grip, grabbing the frustration. He looked ahead of him and observed his surroundings.  
The silent moon winked over the world kindly, spreading reflections to the earth below; twinkles of charitability, ruined by chaos. The grey, passive light glided across the ripples and swirls of a large lake ahead of him. Jogging further through the dense woodlands, he stopped suddenly and ducked. He noticed a small cabin ahead of him. It perched itself in a small clearing which looked like it had been randomly chosen in the middle of nowhere. It consisted of just the one house and a stable. Stained, diamond-shaped windows flickered with light, leaking a golden stream of blindness. It was probably occupied, possibly dangerous, Hunter thought. Bandits, or something. He stared some more amidst the leaves and foliage which grew around him. A stable… A stable! He almost shouted, but instead restrained himself; gasping instead. He spotted two horses, black and brown. He realised how useful it would be to have a horse. It’d help reach home – a few hundred metres from Velen. He gulped and glared back at that flickering window. It was a risk. He withdrew his bow and snuck forward out of the long grass.

His legs buckled under his weight as he used energy crouching slowly towards the building. As he got closer, one of the horses noticed the movement and began to retreat further from him, making a small, whiny whimper. Hunter held up his hands like a surrender, hushing it; meaning no harm. He anxiously looked behind him at the cabin, watching for movement. Listening for sounds. Nothing. He turned his head again. As he got closer and closer, he suddenly halted immediately as he overheard a conversation proceeding from around the corner of one of the walls – clearly two people who owned the cabin.

“Then he shouldn’t ‘ave lost ‘em, then! Why should we ‘ave to do his dirty work?” One of them said angrily, wanting the whole world to hear.

“Shut up before we end up at the gallows.” The other whispered. Hunter could not see them, but he kept their voices on his radar. He flicked from the horse to the conversation, choosing…

“But seriously! It’s ridiculous. Collecting these stupid things! What’s he need ‘em for, anyway?” Hunter realised that the second voice shushed him back into the building. He made his move. Horse in sight, he grabbed the reins.

“What d’ye think you’re doing ‘ere, pal?” Everything faded. Hunter collapsed to the floor, head throbbing.

***

Cold. Cold yet scorching water whacked his face as he woke abruptly and struggled in the weak, wooden chair in the centre of a dimly lit, ale-wrenching room. He coughed uncontrollably and blinked a thousand times before he came to his bearings. He looked around. Nothing unusual; chairs, tables, a couple of beds, candles. A few, scattered Gwent cards lie abandoned next to a warming, thirst inducing bottle of alcohol. Hunter stared at it while grimacing in pain. He locked his eyes once more. Then the punch came. Hunter felt like he’d just been forced half way across the continent. His cheekbone stung and the blood that dripped rang raw. He coughed again, spitting red in the process.

“What do we have ‘ere then?” a man asked. He wore armour. Metal armour, lined and woven together with a yellow fabric. An emblem stood out on his breastplate. He didn’t recognise it, yet he knew it certainly wasn’t Nilfgaardian. He was bald, had a thick beard and a scar which connected the corner of his dry, parched lips to the bottom of his right eye. His breath was hell. He was joined by two other tough looking guards who looked just as determined to kick the shit out of him.  
“What the fuck do you want?” Hunter replied, trying his motionless, brave face for the first time – whilst trying not to ponder over how deep he is in shit.  
“What d’ye mean: ‘what do I want?’?” he shouted and scoffed at the same time. Pacing around the chair which Hunter struggled – bound, the armoured man threw another punch. Two more punches joined together with an insult from the guy on the left. “You tried to steal our horse. OUR horse, like a sneaky fucking snake, eh?” His hellish breath again. Hunter turned his head as far as it allowed him. “So that’s why we’re gonna kick you ‘til your guts spill from your mouth! You got that?” Then he saw it. On the other side of the blurred room, a talisman of some kind; stuffed half in a bag and almost deliberately hidden from view… an amulet. The man noticed, “What’re you lookin’ at?”

“That over there.” Hunter pointed with his eyes, “Where’d you get it?”

“You have no right to ask, freak.” the man on the left asked before sitting down on a creaky stool in the corner, next to an open window. However, the scarred man answered swiftly – Hunter thought he heard a stumble in his words… He thought.

“We are uh… collecting ‘em for someone. None of ye ploughing business.” The punches were so frequent that they ended up becoming numb.

“Who?” Hunter poked, looking him in the eye.

“I said none of your business!” Whack. “How many times do I have to tell you?” Another. “We collectin’ them, that’s all!”

“We told ‘im too much, Malcom. We gotta kill ‘im now.” Said the one who hadn’t said anything yet stood forward from the wall he’d been leaning on. Gravelly voice. Definitely the toughest and bulkiest, yet seemed the quietest. He fought with violence – not with words. He walked, taking his time like savouring an expensive mug of ale. Hunter drew a line with his eyes. His bow. His dagger. The amulet. That window. He did it. Throwing his legs up, he thrashed the guy hard. He stood, swinging the chair he was tied to at the scarred man, throwing his against a table. The man on the stool located his own sword and dived for it but was too late. Hunter used his body to knock him over a bookshelf. Using his time, he unhooked himself from the bounds which rubbed his wrists. He grabbed them. His bow, sword and the amulet in a frantic dash, then burst out of the window before they laid another hand on him. Taking the opportunity, he shot to the horse which he glared at the last time he was conscious, mounted it and rode far away from the cabin. He wished he could taunt them; mock them, but he dared not.

Deep in the night-time air, Hunter crouched – pondering and fiddling with the amulet loosely in his fingertips. He rested his back against the thick, dense tree and exhaled deeply. Poking the fire with a thin stick, he adjusted himself to another position, leaning his head against his satchel. The bruises and cuts still throbbed underneath his skin uncontrollably. He tried clenching the stick between his teeth… It didn’t help. He tossed the pros and cons of the situation recklessly like a madman; the night-time air soothed the pain temporarily but he was unbearably cold and could suffer illness if he stayed too long in this condition. He’d need medicine – help. He adjusted again, coughing silently and listening for movement although begging for rest. The amulet fidgeted in his grip once more, tossing it through fingertips like tossing the thoughts in his mind. He hoped nobody would detect him inside this broad forest. The fire gave his position away a tiny bit, to Hunter’s worry, but he needed the warmth. It helped. He swore in his mind, then cursed out loud. How could he have been so naïve? Trying for that horse in a tiny cabin? They were sure to spot him. What was he thinking? The fire cackled and sparked, either mocking him or keeping him company; he failed to identify which. Smoke pierced his lungs but also immediately comforted him. He rested his eyes; dreaming the night sky.

“He went this way!” a voice echoed from a distance, followed by the cluttered horse hoofs smacking the muddy earth. Hunter jumped quickly and brushed out the fire with his boot, not thinking twice. Startled, he wrenched his body so he could peek behind the tree. Nothing. The voice sounded distant anyway. Surrounded in the inhumane darkness, he tossed and turned in position, finding comfort. He couldn’t find any. The amulet and his bruises poked at him again in his mind.  
“Fuck it.” He whispered to himself. Reaching up, he stood and brushed off the fragments of grass and leaves. He checked the ashes of the fire again, regained his possessions – not forgetting the amulet, and reached for the horse. He pulled on it and settled himself on the saddle, then shot off down the Velen crossroads and into the night-time.


	12. The Steel that Warmed Us in the Night-Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (See the end of the chapter for notes.)

In the darkness grew a fading light. In the abyss, in the nothingness, in the emptiness stood the light. The light which was so close that one could touch it, but so far away that nobody could ever reach it. Fading; all hope lost. Then, amidst the drowning gloom, a tiny growl possessed it. A spreading plague of fear like a foe of the world. Except this one was bigger. Much bigger; a predator – roaring and roaring and screeching with no limits and bursting the air and the walls and the world before an everlasting quiet. Everything stood, static like the world after mass destruction. Nothing had changed. Everything that stood once before still stood, harmless and tranquil. A dormant creature, trapped in an abyss, a nothingness, an emptiness; waiting to be let out like a pressure about to burst.

***

Geralt, Yennefer and Cirilla strolled atop their horses through a small, muddy pathway entering Velen. Their destination was the inn they had set up camp almost, what seemed like, decades ago. They were immediately greeted with a common stench of rotting corpses and necrophage skin that crawled up their noses, making them stifle and groan instantly; not as pleasant as they remembered. They were also greeted with the sight of innocent men which waved at them with a passive sympathy with their feet as they dangled on the end of a tired rope; clinging to the ends of weak branches like a lantern on a thicket of wood – swinging without a care. Broken fences and trudged rocks also dotted the edge of the decrepit road in an attempt to lead them further into the rivers of towns and townspeople like an overly-helpful innkeeper who asked nothing in return for their aid. Looking into the far distance, Ciri drank in the refreshing landscape. Treetops and snowy mountains rose, eager to be explored; fragments of adventures. Trying to cope with the rough journey of her horse, she sighed and repositioned herself.

“How much longer? My bum has been latched to this saddle for days.” She moaned like a petulant child with a set of metal bars between her and a jar of sweets. Geralt almost laughed at her statement, evidently not affected by this as he practically lived on a saddle. Yennefer noticed the internal giggle and slight grin. They’d been on the journey for days, riding back from Skellige. A boat, a tour through Novigrad (in which Yen kept her head down, aware of Triss Merigold with eyes pierced like sharp daggers) and finally into Velen.

“Not much now, Ciri,” Yennefer said gently with her back slumped against her mare with eyes fading; tiredness dragging them down with clenched fists over her eyelashes. She tried desperately to awaken herself with constant prods and pinches to her skin and forehead to startle her like blasting cold water.

“Yen. I’m sorry to keep mentioning this, but you haven’t eaten for days.” Geralt said, offering the bread from his saddlebag.

“No. I want Ciri to have it.” She pointed caringly. Geralt still stared at her with half angry – half loving eyes; he wasn’t sure which.

“Please eat. Even just a little.” He continued to poke.

“Geralt, your face will eat the palm of my hand in a minute if you don’t shut up.” Ciri watched both of them argue pathetically before chuckling quietly. She saw that they meant to prove their own points individually but at the same time they both pleaded for rest as they winked their fatigue away. They saw the village in sight.

Entering the inn, they consumed the warmth. Yennefer almost collapsed to the floor but instead rushed to the nearest table like a wraith; grumbling and possessing all of the space on the wooden surface. Geralt budged her over to own a seat whilst Ciri took the other side.

“Well, let’s have a check-up.” Geralt began before fumbling with a piece of paper that he withdrew from his bag. “We have eight of the ten amulet we need to collect for the king, however this list he gave us is now out of locations. We have no leads. I say we return to him for an update, then navigate our next move. What do you say?” Geralt looked at the both of them for a response, but they weren’t focusing on him. Yennefer in particular looked like her drained energy has been quenched and was instead looking over Geralt’s shoulder with overly pleased eyes. Footsteps approached after the entrance to the building slammed shut.

“Hunter!” she screamed, running towards him and towards his chest. She looked frantically to each scar and bruise on his face like a loving mother. Her eyes darted to each of them with incredible speed. Hunter approached his arms around her, welcoming the hug.

“Hello again. I just wanted to give you a little gift…” he whispered quietly so only the trio could hear. While Yennefer looked up at his curiously, he tossed the amulet he protruded from his pocket to Geralt, who still sat at the bench.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, standing up. Ciri smiled from a distance. Hunter laughed before unlatching from the sorceress.

“I have my ways.” Geralt greeted him to the table before announcing his plans. He repeated his earlier words and suggested they head back to the contractor for more information. Whilst Hunter was an individual and preferred to be alone, he smiled graciously and slowly nodded, carefully looking into each of their eyes. They all nodded to each other in an awkward silence before catching rest for a few hours and leaving the inn. Hunter experienced a shiver as he passed under the doorframe.

***

Entering the castle after dismounting their rides, the four of them equally smelt the sticky sense of elegance. Chandeliers and torch sconces danced in pride around the castle walls. Gold plated, jewellery embedded plates and cups dotted themselves everywhere, alongside the regal red carpet, in the King’s throne itself.

“Geralt, Yennefer, Cirilla and…” the king greeted in a surprisingly less monotonous voice than they expected.

“Hunter.” He corrected.

“Greetings, Janshai.” Yennefer also stated in a welcome voice to the contractor.

“I trust you have a few things to bring me.” He turned, back towards them and beginning to stride towards his throne and start gently prodding and stroking it like his pet. Geralt brought himself closer and unleashed his satchel that had previously slung itself across his back.

“We have nine of the ten.” He fidgeted inside the bag before swiping out the clutter of amulets and handing them over. “Now we are out of leads.” Yeoman smiled as the amulets decorated his palms.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, a group of the King’s men entered via the large wooden door behind Yennefer, Ciri and the archer. They wore yellow fabricated armour plates with an unusual symbol. Hunter’s eyes widened as he recognised them immediately. Gasping, he moved to a darker corner of the room smoothly without raising suspicion, hiding his face.

“Sorry, Sir, sorry,” the leader sounded out of breath, “we finally have it!” he called proudly before raising the final amulet into the air with his grasp. Eight confused eyes stared at it.

“Wait.” Yennefer turned, armed crossed and eyes just as furious. “You had others collecting them too?” Voice of hell, Geralt knew she was about the get increasingly angry; he recognised this tone. Yeoman’s face darkened. His mouth tightly closed in spite and eyes widened into a malicious stare.

“And I thought we could’ve ended this nicely.” He turned again, hands behind his back – calm. “I need to explain a few things. They were never… my amulets. I never lost them. Instead I needed them for a another reason. I lied to you to collect them for me; made up this whole story about someone coming in and stealing them from me.” He scoffed, “I’m actually surprised you were gullible enough to fall for it. Then I set my men on them as well, in hope of speeding up the process. Unfortunately, our asses were becoming discovered by you. Ciri, to be precise.” He turned, “Do you remember that, Cirilla? That temple, in Velen? You saw a few people before hugging the cold floor with a poisonous spike to your neck like an animal!” he grinned and laughed, emitting an evil impression. Ciri suddenly realised and needed Yennefer to hold her back from physically doing something she’d regret.

“You bastard!”

“So I changed tactics…” he continued, “instead of collecting them, I planted them in convenient positions for you to find, to try and reduce suspicion of us. The ocean temple in Skellige. The mansion.” His eyes hurtled towards Yennefer’s blazing face before laughing once again. “It was mostly a set up. I had hoped you would never notice, but I’m afraid we are too late. Pass me the amulet, Malcom, it’s time we finished this.”

“You don’t move a step.” Hunter yelled with a slight nervousness in his voice which he hoped nobody noticed. He had his bow drawn and pointed at Malcom, the scarred man who he met in the cabin a mere few days before and tortured him, sticking the scars and bruises effortlessly to his face. “I will shoot.” Malcom on the other hand, smiled mockingly; uncaring of death, or an arrow in his eye. Yennefer brewed her sparks from her fingertips whilst Geralt and Ciri escalated – talking with the high-pitched screams of their swords unsheathing. The room became locked with an everlasting silence. The malicious king stopped in his steps and turned. His guards also drew their swords and crossbows. They all knew someone was going to die. Nobody was backing down now. Then a whistle sounded like a pin dropping – the tiniest of noises before the storm… A faceless guard whispered his bolt through the air and into Yennefer’s side. She screeched in pain like a thousand fires as it pierced her previous wound; explosions of a thousand agonies. Her spells died out before clutching the wound, blood spilling like water. Geralt swore before dropping his steel sword to the cold, stone ground and darting to her to help. The sword clunked to the floor with a satisfying clang. Then it happened. Arrows flew, swords bounced. Ciri teleported through some, disorienting them, then delivering her sword into the hairs on the back of their necks before effortlessly groaning to the ground, blood casting a puddle. Hunter rapidly released arrows at all targets, but trying to hit Malcom of all people. He got a few, exploding a few brains into eternity, but not Malcom. By this point, Geralt had dragged Yennefer to a wall at the side of the large hall, leaving a blood trail.

They lost – the guards were too frequent to beat completely. Ciri noticed this and dropped her neck low and swore. They restrained her, another stole Hunter’s bow and held his arms. Another two glared down at the witcher and sorceress before yanking them up from the floor.

“This is not how I wanted things to turn.” The king said. He almost hadn’t moved from his position before the fight started. He simply stared upon the monstrosity. Dead bodies of his own men plotted themselves around the room, painting the carpets with a deeper red colour without question. What makes them different in death than life? They did things without question, in life and in death. He infamously smiled again, uncaring for his soldiers like tossing a few paper cards away. “Take them to a jail cell. Heal and bandage the sorceress’ wound then throw her in too.” He started throwing orders to the emotionless guards that remained. Malcom sat at a bench in the corner of the room, plucking at a graze at his shoulder. They dragged Geralt, Yennefer, Ciri and Hunter each towards a smaller door across the hall. “Not him.” Janshai called, staring at Hunter. “He stays here.”

“No...” Yennefer tried to call weakly but nobody heard her. The next few minutes resulted in the trio being controlled down a few gloomy corridors into the depths of the castle, angry at his betrayal to the contract. He had all ten amulets and he has a plan to use them. Geralt growled in anger, but to no avail.

***

“Do you think he’s forgotten that I can teleport?” Ciri chuckled behind the steel bars alongside Geralt and Yennefer. They both simultaneously looked at her smile, then also caught her humour. Ciri stood from the dirty, rat-riddled ground and pressed her face to the coldness of the thick bars, then sighed.

“We still can’t get out.” Geralt reminded her calmly before shifting his position and fiddling with a bit of hay he found in the corner of the room. Yennefer had offered she could use a portal out of the cage but Geralt nastily refused like a dismissive old man. Ciri waited until the path across the cage they were in was clear before emitting a shiny blue pathway as her body dematerialised to the other side. She landed it perfectly.

“How long have you been practicing that pirouette?” Geralt asked in a whisper.

“Glad you noticed!” Ciri ignored his original question but instead grinned from the other side of the iron bars. “Don’t worry,” she started in a silent voice, “I’ll find a way to get you out.” They both passively smiled to emphasise their trust between them. Then she left in a blink of an eye.

“Do you honestly think she’ll be fine?” Yennefer said anxiously. Geralt noticed a slight shake in her voice, which he wiped away which an awkward hug around her shoulders. He replied with a question.

“How many times have we had to trust her before?”

***

Carelessness got the better of her. As Ciri sprinted around the corner, she ran straight into the chest of a patrolling guard. Except she soon found out he wasn’t patrolling. He gripped her tightly around the arms like a father’s child whilst Ciri scuffled away and attempted to toss a few punches to the face of the body she couldn’t see in the ruckus.

“Woah, woah. Hold on.” The voice said. They both stopped like the freezing of time. She took the opportunity to gaze up from his plated armour to his face. Kind. Soft. Caring. A soldier out of place. “I’m here to help.”

Taking the opportunity, she prodded her curiosity. “How?”

“I know it might not look like it… from the armour and… stuff,” No shit, Ciri thought, “but I don’t agree with the king’s… actions.” Ciri caught stumbles of unprofessionalism yet understanding in his voice. “I’m here to help. I… I have the key to your cell.” Ciri, though this was suspicious, seemed to lean towards him. She trusted him despite the amour and emblem that proved him otherwise. Could he be trusted? She nodded after hesitation.

“Down there. I trust you know where it is.”

Ciri, to Janshai’s surprise, rushed into the main hall that they had set foot in a few hours before. Though this time it changed to a darker tone. Blood painted the walls, bodies overlayered the old carpet and Hunter sat gagged and bound to a rusty iron, crippled chair in the centre of the room whilst Yeoman stood at the end of the room, next to his throne and fiddling with the tip of a knife.

“Nice of you to join us, Cirilla.” He dug with evil eyes, still twiddling with the tip of the sharpness at his thumb. He looked up at her and grinned once more. Ciri tried to run to Hunter but the arms of the guard that grasped her wrists held her back.

“Let him go!” she squealed, losing dignity as it oozed out of her voice. She repeated it a few times but the more she tried, the more she realised he wasn’t listening.

“I will. In time.” Yeoman knelt, and placed the final amulet in its socket on the ground, facing a wall too bare. Too much like a doorway waiting to be opened. Standing once again and whacking the grains of dust from his knees, he made his way to attach the knife he’d been holding to Hunter’s throat, immediately making his eyes blink more frantically in an attempt to wink away his panic. He flickered his gaze to Ciri in an agonising plead for help.

“I said let him go!” Ciri struggled more.

“I’m afraid, my dear Cirilla, this process requires… a sort of… sacrifice.” He trailed off as if all effort went through the knife and not his speech. He laughed; laughed and laughed and looked up to the ceiling and down again – rubbing the knife against the throat and connecting a spot of blood to the surface.

“Don’t you fucking d-“ Ciri tasted the sweaty palm of her captor behind her, becoming almost tackled to the ground.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Yennefer repeated as she entered the room with a furious gaze. Geralt also entered but felt naked without his sword. Ciri thought she saw a slight fear in Janshai’s eyes, but then faded away into an increased hysteria as he put on his evil act once again. The mask was slipping.

“You really think you can stop me?” he snickered like a predator amongst prey. He released the tension by removing the knife from the archer’s throat, but still leaving a slight mark. The blood trickled gently down his throat yet he was relieved nonetheless. “This didn’t need a ‘sacrifice’, Ciri. I just wanted to see how you’d react.” He turned and stroked his hand upwards towards the top corner of his golden throne, “Now then, shall we begin?” he twisted his wrist with a satisfying click before the walls shuffled left and right, spitting dust from the corners and revealing something bright inside. Thumps. Rhythmic waves of vibrations approached the lasting light. A large figure cast its shadow through the open doorway. The large beast entered the room. Large, ominous, rocky skinned and gigantic. Fingertips the size of a man’s head. Steel-plated arms and chest; eyes of lava. A growl which could render a thousand people deaf within an instant. This was the figure of certain death. The giant continued to slowly move forward. Feeling its power, Yeoman cranked his neck up to stare at his new creation and knelt down in respect and glory.

“Your creator! Your holy leader! Hail before me!” The king started, chanting like a holy ritual. “Your creation; your birth! What do you say before me?” The monster knelt down; the building shaking in the process. Then everything stopped, flooding a painful silence, followed by the throbbing torture of Yeoman’s screams as the monster crushed his head with its fingertips, splashing a tiny bit of blood on its thumb. His body flopped to the ground. The four of them gazed half in terror, half in amazement as the creature stood up again and agitated the world with its laugh. Then everything happened at once.

The remaining of the king’s guard fled through the large arch at the back of the room after dropping their weapons to the ground like pebbles into water. After the man holding Ciri fled like a scared animal, she darted towards Hunter and swiftly tugged at the ropes on his wrists, immediately giving him liberty to fumble for his bow and arrows. Geralt untucked the sword from the belly of a dead soldier and bustled around the feet of the creature before stabbing at the toes. Yennefer cast sparks and explosions at the head of the brute, consequently forming blinding clouds of panic. Hearts like a marathon sprint, they each contributed to the destruction of their enemy. Enclosing the threat, each moved closer in a circular motion whilst throwing pain at areas of its skin. Ciri, after untangling the archer, teleported to the neck of creature, which felt miles away, and started pricking its eyes with her tiny fingers… it didn’t fail to decay under the pressure. Despite the gallons of blood pulsing from the ankles of it, a simple sweep of the toe flung Geralt to the other side of the room before entering a gaze of confusion. Damage had been dealt, however, as the creature fell to its knees. It wailed decades of suffering equal to the tornados of throbbing of the wounds that popped around it. Ciri managed to impair the brute of its sight before it thrashed palms behind itself, knocking her to the ground and stunning her of her surroundings. Yennefer, distracted by her daughter’s damage, stopped immediately what she was doing and flung herself towards her lying body. Using the last of its current energy, the green-oozing hostility brushed its arm and kindly greeted the sorceress’ back to the cobblestone wall; sucking her breath from her lungs. Silence fell before an everlasting earthquake as tons of weight crashed to the ground. The creature was barely breathing… It tried to force itself from the ground but failed as an arrow flung from the opposite side of the room into the centre of its eyes, sending it from the world and rendering its body limp and still. Hunter exhaled and his heart slowed in relief. Each of them stared at him in the middle of the calm.

It was so calm that they heard the whistle. The quick nothingness that only slightly penetrated the tranquillity, but it was enough. Hunter suddenly dropped his bow into the red puddle at his feet and was fumbling at the arrowhead at his stomach, spluttering explosions of blood to coat his lips. Yennefer ran to his limp body which painted the tiny area of the floor, rapidly screaming his name. Behind him stood the archer. The man with the scar which joined the corner of his mouth to his eye.

“Malcom sends his regards.” He said carelessly. He barely walked a step before Geralt’s hand gripped his throat and the tip of his sword rummaged through his innards – chucking and tossing intestines to the ground. Hunter took his last breath.

***

Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri stood in the breezy air and dawning sun, tossing the dirt onto the mound on the ground followed by inserting a wooden symbol onto the head of the grave.

“Rest in Peace.”

Later, they sat in the tavern in Velen. The room they had visited many times on their recent journey. They drank lots and thought silently at the decline of their adventure.

“Was it worth it?” Ciri said quietly. “All this death and destruction for nothing. No reward. Nothing to remember Hunter by. Just... emptiness.”

“Bad things happen to good people. Sometimes you can’t help it and the gods fiddle with Fate in their grasp.” Yennefer replied, almost demonstrated the carelessness with her mug in her fingertips. Geralt said nothing. “Geralt?” she continued.

“Mhm?” he began, “Oh. Let’s just spend the rest of the day here, then figure out what’s next.”

“I’ll rent a couple of rooms.” Ciri said before getting up and heading to the innkeeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this series, The Steel that Warmed Us in the Night-Time. Remember, you can visit my Tumblr page, https://thealfanator.tumblr.com/ , where you can check out some of my other pieces of fanfiction, as well as here, A03, where they are uploaded too. However, I upload work first to Tumblr, so it's definitely the place to go if you want to read more!
> 
> If you want to leave me feedback, please go to my Tumblr and message me. I don't know how to use AO3 very well, so it's more likely that I'll respond there.  
> Have a good day :)


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